invisibility mechanism

don't know how to heal
a wound
that never feels the blues
don't know how to hide
my eyes -
never feels too soon

everybody stares my skin
into fringes on the stage
so i wear this hat, eyes
shut up tight,
invisibility secures -

don't know about these roads
i go
with inconspicuous signs...

i think they're just a lure.

a time i wish i had my camera

So, I've been cuddled up in my public library desk since 2:15 this sunny, 55 degree, slight breeze afternoon and cuddled is certainly not an accurate term. Huddled wouldn't work either because the desk is quite spacious - fitting all 15 of my books, my two notebooks, my water, apple, cell phone, laptop and portrait of David Bowie for inspiration (juuust kiiiddin')

But, I am comfortable - with where I am at on my thesis draft and with the quiet nature the library provides.

Around 6:50 p.m., I decided to leave my nest and adventure three blocks down the creek to Boulder High School Auditorium. My favorite 9 year old in Boulder was performing at her elementary school's annual talent show and I hadn't yet seen her routine.

She went on at 7:20. I am not just saying this because she is the coooooolest 9 year old I've ever met, but she was the best. Emmitt, the 1st grade handstand walking kid was pretty skilled, especially awesome because he had the music of Austin Powers lining his performance, and even the kid who wrote his own song on the piano (which was better than all 6 other piano performances) was pretty impressive. But Haley wins, hands down. Tricks on a Hula Hoop I had never even thought possible AND choreographed hula dancing to the music.

Applause. She made my night and rejuvenated my energy.

Andes in the Rockies

This will be a picture guided post.














I suppose taking out my camera more than once might be beneficial to presenting an unspeakable weekend...

Every moment's a little bit later

After doing what has become to be my morning routine of political news, blog checks, email sweep and thesis musings, I began to notice how rapidly I was being hurtled through the Internet. Link hopping, tab-opening, bookmarking and intermittently shooting off emails to people I thought would be interested in the Internet gems I'd collected along the way.

The web-world has changed our lives so comprehensively, yet because it has all happened so fast, most of us haven't noticed how comprehensively it has changed human interaction. Those who do notice go in many different directions with their observation; some revolt and refuse to join facebook, myspace, twitter, etc. and insist on keeping their outdated nokia; some sprinkle their lives with text messages, facebook pokes and youtube videos; and then there are those who thrive on it and use the growing phenomenon to their advantage.

There are certainly more gradations of web-obsession/apathy, but these are the typical ones I've found in Boulder. I like to see myself somewhere in between the first two: the girl who joined the social communities but never really uses them, who texts messages but will not allow a string longer than two responses to transpire, who blogs but doesn't rely on it as her sense of community, etc.

The reason I am in the grey section of tech-obsession is for many reasons, but chief among them is that I believe the most sensible ideas are swimming amidst the middle-ground of the extremes. I believe in balance.

Those who revolt are losing out because one must adapt, to a certain degree, in order to compete.

Those who blogtwitpoketextsendetc and rely upon the direction technology is going in are often unwittingly socially distant from real world interaction. The reason I want to emphasize the fact that the latter group is generally unconsciously "distant" from the "real world" is that I think these people are caught up.

>interlude of definitions<

Distant: unaware. (I will expound upon this later)

Real World: a hug or conversation that isn't contingent in any way upon anything besides that instant of human interaction

>end of interlude<

One may be able to know what is going on in all corners of their city, state, country and world through twitter messages, RSS feeds and bulletins, but how deep will these things impact the person if said person is merely skimming through due to the profusion of information coming at him/her? I am not denying that staying informed is important, but I think some people are taking it too far. I will not point any fingers, but some of these Internet social networking schemes are starting to irritate me so much that I am blogging against bloggers right now... oh shit... hypocrite or unhinged?

The distance I see in extreme techies is the idea that maybe they think they can be machines. A computer can process the amount of information that the common-techie is receiving on a daily basis, and it doesn't matter how much time the computer puts into the data, because computers do not think! The difference between man and machine is that we are given the ability to mentally process, actively form and connect ideas, in a time-consuming manner. It takes time for humans to fully process things, and that is okay. In this technologically spiraling world, we need to stay human, be more aware and thoughtful, instead of thinking we can cyborg ourselves to try and become as functional as machines.

Be aware. Notice your breath or your heart beat shift as you go to give a hug. Sometimes I feel like people are becoming more in tune with the hum of their vibrating blackberry than they are to the cadence of the human heart beat.

This brings me back to the Wilco quote I have as today's label: Every moment's a little bit later. The way I interpret this line is through hippie-kumbaya colored glasses: take each moment for what it is, at the size it is - don't try to overload your moments. Live in a comfortable pulse; think drizzle rain windshield wiper blades, not downpour mode.

I am really into balance lately. Balance. Just say it, it is such a calming word.

He said I'm not normal

But I blushed when he smiled when
we both noticed the passenger ahead of us
tapping to a no-name song
playing on our car radio
in traffic behind the construction men

And I smirked when we woke up and turned
to see the other awake already,
accomplishing nothing but comfort
and kindness -
with a rivulet between us

I laughed that a liter of whisky
was finished in one sitting.
A conversation pending.
A night both worth and
hard at forgetting.

"Normal" sounds like a cat from
a Garfield cartoon sent to Abu Dhabi
for being a nuisance of questions

And Tom at the Beat Bookstore
said I fire 'em like a pistol
And he himself can't quit from persisting
to spew riveting information.

So, I must have one-uped someone
un-one-up-able
in the realm of "Nermalness"

And, sure, I wonder why we've never
kissed,
but what else could ever come of this -
our abnormal, untouchable relationship?

: a hug that lasts, persists and twists
into an anomalous tag-team
break from actual existence

is it.

What a word means to me.

what a word means to me is
a silver dollar, stolen
from my mother

what a word means to me -
a favor, reciprocated in
the day that follows

What it means is
a dollop of butter on a
fresh-out-of-the-oven biscuit

It means a moment noticed
A bookcase polished
Attention focused

It means 'I love you' meant it
Dollars spent worth spending

It means your mother kept it:
the hidden notebook
tucked for forgotten

the words you wrapped up
in a blanket, shoved
under your childhood bed, it

means love love still exists
though yesterday you faked it

Sentiments left on paper,
lost to be found twelve years later

A word means memories, they follow
and though you never meant
to call her

Your speed dial trumped you once again
and yes, even the leaders follow,
eventually everyone falters -

but the word, it's there as fodder . . .

Obamamatopoeia

THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, OBAMAFIED.

Check out this article, where Slate.com created a widget for "the unabridged Encyclopedia Baracktannica."

My buddy Andy is in town, visiting from Brooklyn, and after a lengthy day of traveling to Estes Park for Bloody Mary's at the Stanley Hotel, getting lost with me as navigator (surprise, surprise), and Margaritas & Quesadillas, Andy and I attempted to uni-lucid dream. When that didn't work, we got up and perused the internet for the latest political news. This is when we ran across this article and decided to participate in the political process of wordplay.

Obama Mama - any mother in support of Barack Obama

Obamathon - an all-night fundraiser in support of Barack Obama

Barawkward - an uncomfortable exchange of forced pleasantries between candidates

Obamadeus - a young prodigy capable of composing oratory masterpieces

Baraille - tactile political paraphernalia in support of Barack Obama

Baright - the luminescent Barack Obama auras given off during exceptionally inspirational speeches

Barackitis - a contagious ailment afflicting Obama-supporters; side effects include skipping work for Obama rallys, bouts of hope and sporadic yelps of "Yes we can!"

O'Bama - the temporarily adopted last name of Obamaphiles on St. Patrick's Day

Obamabellum - the area of the brain regulating all coordination of Obama rally events

Wash your hands before

you write! You'll get dinner's remnants on the blank naked column between the thin teal lines and it will sit there like an unwanted freckle people assume to be a mole or, worse, a wart - something mutated on the face of the page and we all know title and covers are judged despite proverbial warnings...

Even after we stretch,

we feel the tendons pull. They yank at us, muscles taut- with oxygen, or lactic acid or something unspecified by science -it occurs in such a way, we feel we've lost all our youth. How could we be so oblivious to its slow departure? Its achingly gradual thump that echoes deep in the past of our legs, our skin, our heads and perforated hearts of fissured innocence. Our naked anatomy grown so slow, we become body hollowed out with yellow toxins, then repaired by anti-oxidants, eventual skeletons of self removed slightly from former self, removed slightly again from self that came before that self, pungent bulbed onions of yesterday husked away like a patient garlic peeler - each day, a half-life, a cross-section of a former self.

I made a List.

I made a List,
and I felt good about the list:
Potential tasks for the day.

But what is potential
but a mocking carrot
we writer's chase in lists
and forget about
when we see the rabbits
run past us in pursuit -

We admire their persistence and write
a witty (or humdrum) note
about their eternal
perseverance of the unattainable.

It was a start,
but my initial enthusiasm withered
after the finishing of the List, it seems.

The List inhibits efficiency for me.

"L.A. Times: Barack Obama for Democratic Nominee"

The L.A. Times | February 02, 2008
By L.A. Times Editorial Board

But just because the ballot features two strong candidates does not mean that it is difficult to choose between them. We urge voters to make the most of this historic moment by choosing the Democrat most focused on steering the nation toward constructive change: We strongly endorse Barack Obama… No public relations campaign could do more than Obama's mere presence in the White House to defuse anti-American passion around the world, nor could any political experience surpass Obama's life story in preparing a president to understand the American character. His candidacy offers Democrats the best hope of leading America into the future, and gives Californians the opportunity to cast their most exciting and consequential ballot in a generation. In the language of metaphor, Clinton is an essay, solid and reasoned; Obama is a poem, lyric and filled with possibility. Clinton would be a valuable and competent executive, but Obama matches her in substance and adds something that the nation has been missing far too long -- a sense of aspiration.

Source: http://www.barackobama.com/index.php

Follow up.

Bighorn Sheep

This is what gets done on a day off. And taxes. And bike rides in 60 degree weather. One day off a week is surely not enough, but damn it makes me appreciate relaxation.

denver loogeys

January has been an exciting month of having good people coming to Colorado. Dicky and Kathy came in to Denver this weekend for validation training. We spent a majority of the time avoiding his work responsibilities, stealthily escaping his hotel and calming Kathy about not getting caught. (I hope they've let you keep your job Dickey, for Not An Airplane's sake of funding.)

After dinner at Lime, we decided one of us could go to work for Dickey the next day as long as we wore his name tag.



While waiting for Dickey and Kathy to make their cameo at the Western night work dinner, George and I dabbled in Kathy's buggy sunglasses.





...and got frowned upon for accidentally using the Brown Palace's service elevator...



The night spent with our two friends can not be summed up in photographs, and probably not even in words. We spent the majority of the time catching up and talking about inappropriate things that made George squirm. Dickey and Kathy are part of a handful of folk I'd like to convince to move to Colorado - they'd fit in just fine and then we could have dumb fun all the time, and continue on with our inadvertent rhymes.

Here's Dickey in his cowboy attire, napping on the way back from Boulder.



Good people. Good times. Not a lot of sleep :)

never a sunset in tucson

For funding's sake, I made the last of one of my knee-jerk weekend trips: Tucson, Arizona to visit Christoph for a sporadic adventure, or as I like to call it: a stint of sporadicism.



Being only the third time hanging out with my buddy, he endeavored to show me the Best of Tucson in less than a long weekend. I think the only thing we did not accomplish was catching sight of Tucson's jaw-dropping sunsets.

Though we didn't catch a harlequin sky, we did spend a great portion of our time under cerulean blue. I had only seen a few cactus in my life, so it was exciting to hike amongst thousands of them. I saw them as little alien creatures (possibly named Flert?) scattered and turned to Martian stone. Christoph made it a point to take photographs of cacti that resembled real human scenes, in order to turn into postcards one day. Here are some that caught my eye, and what they were to me.

A Night at the Roxbury:


Cacti ThumbWar!


A person in reverence of the beauty of Tucson:


Family Photo:


Single Mother:


Young boy on father's shoulders at the crowded circus . . .


. . . looking at this mime-clown:


Man fears falling tree:


Freakishly tall man waves hello to odd bush:



Okay, the rest are for our new Postcard company that will pay off all my bills and allow me to live a life free of job obligations.
(I say 'our' because I am undeniably latching myself onto the idea because I was around during conception of its first photos)


Okay, some other photos for fun. . .

Nubbins -


Cactus Skeleton


On our hike through the Saguaro National Park, Christoph mentioned a cactus that springs out at you, like a porcupine quill or something... We then saw it and asked a passing hiker what it was called: the Jumping Cholla. Cool. It is also called a Teddy Bear Cholla, which is ironic, because the last thing I'd want to do is hug this barbed tree-thing. Bighorn Sheep eat the juicy fruit off of these guys - much respect to the bighorns.


Me preening what I think to be a Cylindropuntia versicolor. I love cacti and succulents. I wish I knew all about them -


This was us at the top. I'm pretty sure xtoph has a weggie from the 3 mile, 1,700 foot elevation gain. It must have been that sudden burst of quickened pace when we followed the old guy with calves at the end.


Tucson is beautiful.


I came home to tell all about my trip: my first time going to Mexico (albeit Nogales, which isn't really considered Mexico?), my first taste of the Prickly Pear fruit and my first time seeing tons of cactus. One friend was upset that I forgot our shared experience of first cactus sighting a few years ago. Here's homage (proof) to that moment:


We covered a lot of bases from tamales in Mexico to Patagonia to wine tasting to museum perusing to cave exploration/spelunking to hiking to bar hopping, game playing... however, it is in my blood to plan way too much for much too little time, so we didn't quite finished the decathlon. Final score Christoph: 3, meghann: 2. My only complaint of the trip was his refusal to play games I would beat him at, i.e. ms pacman, super mariokart, rummy and/or a typing contest... but not everything has to be a competition - so I let it slide.

Cheers Tucson and the wonderful residents of it.

"Lick the roof of your mouth," she said.

He took too big of a sip - too big of a sip too quickly. The third factor leading to his gulp that swallowed him is that he doesn't often drink these and they're strong. Extreme. They are the type of refreshment only voracious individuals indulge in. And indulging in such risky liquid takes courage. Just a sip is like a quick dip into the low end; a straw suck is much different. When thirsty, when craving for the all-consuming swirl of its intoxicants, it is near impossible for such a man, a man with such curiosity, such passion, to not take much too much on the initial sip.

STORY OF STUFF

with Annie Leonard> <-----click here for the exposé.


* When speaking as "we" in this post, I mean to speak of the average American. Of course everyone varies in terms of their degree of being part of the "we".

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The most prevalent problems in American society are interrelated:
- our economic cycle is linear in all the wrong ways.
- our social line of thinking is cyclical to the point of mindless sickness.
- our political power is in the hands of puppeteers and we are allowing ourselves to be the marionettes. We've attached ourselves to their strings by listening submissively.


Instead of creating a system of reproduction, we have a system of Production - Consumption - Disposal. The product is made, used and disposed of when a new product comes along to be consumed, used and disposed of. The problem is the disposal rarely contributes positively toward reproduction. Sure, we've all learned about our blue bins and bottle & can centers, but it is not anywhere near 100 percent and the flow of production - consumption - disposal surges so rampantly, it mostly just goes in ONE direction.

Instead of thinking linearly - rationally - toward an action worth executing, we think cyclically: Work - Watch - Buy. The mindset used for this cycle is ingrained and unchanging; we must Work more to Purchase more, and the ads in between propagate these inclinations by telling us we are not important unless we have more STUFF. We are being duped.

We need to switch: shift gears out of our cyclical ways of thinking and create more of a circular flow for our environment.

And it's not necessarily about EXTREME measures. No one expects EVERYONE in America to NEVER drive their cars to get to work faster, to STOP watching TV for entertainment, or to completely abandon shopping malls or those neat-o devices like I-pods and Wii games. What is expected is an UNDERSTANDING: we must begin to see the level of hypnosis we are under; we need to become conscious of consumer habits and the effects.

It's not just hip to be sustainable. It's not even necessarily hippie; if you consider people who hope for the best for our future to be hippies, than hippie I am.

It can be BETTER.

I consider myself more of a hope-y . . . or a hippo: a human being with hope, not despair. One definition for "hip" is: to be understanding, aware. - - - So, I'm a hopey hippo, not a hippie.


Let's get back to what Christmas is really all about: love, sharing, family, faith and happiness.

Merry Holidays! and let's keep this Christmas less red, more green!

Symmetrical and Systematic

Every December I come home to 16 fake poinsettias, consistently vacuum-patterned carpets, an orderly tree of ornaments (bulbs carefully placed so no colors are repeated within a foot of one another) and three cats sitting in an equilateral triangle.

This year the mantle goes (left to right, as easy as reading): one gold-bowed, green foiled, red leaf dipped-in-yellow-precious-metal poinsettia, two skinny evergreen trees, Christmas bowl, two red tapered candles, one gaudy gold poinsettia, one silver Christmas tree, poinsettia wreathe above santa-in-the-fireplace, one silver Christmas tree, one gaudy gold poinsettia, two skinny evergreen trees, a Christmas nutcracker, three metal cup trees, one gold-bowed, green foiled, red leaf dipped-in-yellow-precious-metal poinsettia. A fake skinny garland snakes through the things.

Mom skewed this year: there are three of something on one side and pairs on the other. She’s getting risky, drinking Carolan's on ice and mixing up the symmetry. But below the stocking is a stuffed Santa with two stuffed reindeer facing inward, with two poinsettias in similar baskets flanking them. Red and green everything, even the plaid couches, plus blue of course. We haven’t had a different colored Van since I was eight.

I wonder if she meant the pictures to the right of the deck door to be set up that way: Jackie, Meghann/Jackie picture, Meghann. I think, mathematically, methodically, symmetrically, and make-sensibly, it would look more mom-like with my senior picture on the left, then Meghann/Jackie, then Jackie. For one, my picture is looking off into the distant left. For two, having the girls flank their respective sides of the central photo would indicate which is which in the middle.

On the other side of the deck door, there is a block shelf chock full of San Francisco-esque houses - looks like the hill of Full House. Where a townhouse wouldn’t fit, mom placed a snowman, a lamppost or an evergreen tree. She hid the huge speakers for Patrick on the backside of the tree because it doesn’t look even with the DVD shaped scatter of all the other presents. There are holiday throw pillows with mistletoe and snowmen, button trees and suddenly, out of no where, dad’s blue bed pillow for comfort. I am surprised it wasn’t placed back in its place after last night’s movie time. Everything is always in its correct bin, Tupperwear, shelf, drawer or compartment. Laundry every day. Fudge in plastic tins and cookies in the freezer. Haystacks and trail mix. Plenty of milk and French Vanilla flavored coffee. This year, two bottles of Kahlua and Café mixer. Never much alcohol lying around, just coffee mixers. This year, we’re mixing it up.

Even carefully proportioned people and purposeful systems need a surprising element tossed in every now & again.

Gollum Sentences.

Who's car is that?
Heidi's car is that.

Heidi purchased a new pseudo-Saab (Elantra 2005, in the new shiny 'hide-n-seek' black) and I nearly burnt it down with hot coals from our new Hookah.

I asked 'Who's car is that' and couldn't figure out why it sounded so cajun, or uneducated, or Gollum. Bill explained: "It's like saying "Bill's water is that." Very Gollum-esque.

Going to a Croc's Christmas bash tonight. If anyone is wearing those fluorescent foam sandals, I will personally heal them with my short dagger, tapered blade stilettos. Okay, so the shoes I'm wearing aren't that 'Kill Bill' hazardous, but it is a black and white (and red and green) event and I'm polishing up.

Also, we received a new refrigerator shipment this afternoon and Bill created a 'leftover' shelf. If nothing else, that shelf shows how warm our hearts are for unfinished food. We're leftover rescuers!

If you're looking for a thread to follow in this post, give up now.

Kerouac's New School for Comedians

Wed. 6:30-8 WM Burrough, "How to Play Horses"
Wed. 4:20-6 H Huncke, "WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU'RE BEAT"
Wed. 8:30-10 Joan Adams, "The Atomic Disease and Its Manifestations"

Thurs. 4:20-6 N Cassady, "How to Dig the Streets"
Thurs. 6:30-8 A Ginsberg, "Hungarian Politics"
Thurs 8:30-10 L Carr, "The Fair and Foul in Our World"
Fri 4:20-6 J Kerouac, "Riddles & Roses"
Fri 6:30-8 W Burroughs, "Semantic Confusion"
Fri 8:30-10 A Ginsberg "The Types and Meaning of Visions"

Mon 4:20-6 N Cassady, "Love, Sex, and the Soul"
Mon 6:30-8 H Huncke, "Modern Drugs"
Mon 8:30-10 Joan Adams, "The Meaning of the Veil"
Tues 4:20-6 L Carr, "The Appreciation of the Vale"

Tues 6:30-8 A Ginsberg, "Seminar: Poetry, Painting, Dead Eyes and the Unknown"
Tues 8:30-10 W Burroughs "The Immortal Bard"
Tues 8:30-10 N Cassady, "New Psychology, New Philosophy, New Mortality"

Wed 4:20-6 J Kerouac, "The Myth of the Rainy Night"

Coming Spring Semester...
H Huncke "Manifestations of Electrical Phenomenon in Texas and the Caribbean"
W Burroughs "Supernatural Elements in Horseplaying"
A Ginsberg "The Dolmen Realms"
N Cassady "The Green Tea Visions"
L Carr "Dolls and Pollywogs"
J Kerouac "The Holy Final Whirlwinds"
Joan Adams "Hints"

And a General Seminar and Chorus, conducted by Aldophus Asher Ghoulens, held each Friday Midnight in the Grotto of the moon, admission by application only to Monsieur H. Hex, 429 Hoax Street, Grampion Hills. Fee: --- Gifts, including (but not excluded to) Puppets, Roaches, Roses, Rainwater, Socks, Maps, Onions, Fingertips, Roast Beef, Confessions, and Frogs.
Requirements: Sixty points in elementary realization, largesse, comedown, sorrow, and truest love.
- -

That's the school, there the faculty, thus the courses. Could one learn there? Don't you think one could really learn there?

On Addiction:

Once I blog once in an uneventful, unstressful night, I blog twice. Then thrice. Who knows how many more will follow.

Here's a quotation on addiction said by my legendary professor: Bobbie Louise Hawkins:

"I think reading is an addiction. Writing is like a secondary addiction. You realize if you're going to be an addict, you might as well be your own supplier."


...and since we're already here and quoting my most quotable professor, I will slap a few more into the cyber-world.

"Women who are attracted to Narcissistic men do it to have space."

"What kind of hooker has a bum hip?"

"Republicans love celebrities - why? - well, because they want them to read the lines right."

"I'd like to suggest that solutions aren't necessarily the best thing that can happen. Putting a nail through something isn't going to fix your future."

"And flopping around is often where it's at - you flop around until you find yourself at a place you didn't expect. As DH Lawerence once said: 'My characters slog along and slog along and then they blossom like little cabbages!'"

"Go with it that you don't have a chance in hell but to change constantly."

"The ideal is like a grey cloud hovering over what actually is. And it makes 'what is' look inadequate and even though the ideal extends itself as unattainable, you continue to vote for it to show that you have standards."

"Rhetoric will not let a new thing happen."

"Pieces like this run the risk of becoming confetti."


Everyone should meet BLHawkins.