Wednesday, October 30, 2013

movements of the moment

I never really know what's going to do it for me. This elusive "it" refers to what might tripwire my spark and initiate fire; what might pull new verse out of me or get me painting or spinning around the living room by myself in a fit of new music. I can't point to one specific thing and say "this inspires me, every time, always."

My current inspiration is a reoccurring one. Photos of young Anjelica Huston and Jack Nicholson, together.

Anjelica Huston on her bond with Jack Nicholson:
"Jack is someone I've adored in my life and will continue to love forever. I don't take him lightly," she said. "As it happens, we had a really lovely conversation on the phone yesterday — a conversation that started off a little bumpy and wound up just completely wonderful. That's a real relationship. Real relationships have continuity, and Jack and I have a deep abiding love and affection for each other. I'm proud that we've gotten through some very tough times together."

Anjelica and Jack had an on-again, off-again relationship from 1973 to 1989. Here is an excerpt from Nicholson's interview with Parade in 2008 regarding the end of their relationship:
Their romance lasted until 1989, when Anjelica learned that actress Rebecca Broussard was pregnant with Jack's baby. "I was in a quandary," Jack quietly explains to PARADE's Dotson Rader. "I knew having a child was a boon to my life, but I was in a wonderful relationship with Anjelica. It was as good as it gets. I immediately told her what was up, and she made the decision for us." The public presumed that Nicholson had dumped Huston for Broussard, a younger woman. The truth is the opposite. "Anjelica's first response was, 'You have to support this woman,' " Nicholson says. "Her second response was to come down to my job and beat the hell out of me. She really beat me up, I tell you. Anjelica can punch! Meanwhile, Rebecca didn't want me to separate from Anjelica. Well, they both have good taste," he says laughing.

And now to the visual. These photos make me want to write every time I look at them.









Tuesday, October 29, 2013

in brief

My ultrasound, originally scheduled for today, was pushed back to Friday. The hospital called me yesterday to let me know--something about doctor's schedules, blah blah blah. Whatever. I want it over with. I'm trying to be patient. I'm keeping busy so I don't end up sitting around with it weighing on the brain. When I do think about it one of my hands has a tendency to go to my left breast and feel the lump(s) there. I've caught myself doing that on the bus and at work.

And the book. I did a lot of edits this weekend. There are more to do. I need to put up a stop sign, soon, and stick to it. I'm driving myself bonkers with the indecision, the exacto-knife manner at which I am going through each piece now. I try to stand on the outside lookin in on it, just as I get right in the middle and gaze out. One minute it makes sense, the next it doesn't. Will I find a place to be satisifed with it? I don't know. I don't think I'll ever be truly satisfied(hence the need for a stop sign). There is that thought that always happens with putting together a body of work--this sudden need to put in everything I've ever written, as if there will never be another shot. The truth is, dear self, there will be other books. There will be more written. This collection doesn't necessarily need another head or extra limbs. It's getting there but it's still not quite. And the not-quite part of it is driving me up the damn wall.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

lou reed

Lou Reed died today.

The news is a fist in the gut. Like when Johnny Cash died. Music is such a part of my life. Velvet Underground pulled me through high school and kept my pen to the page and saw me through love and its fallout.

Rest, Lou. You/your work is such a part of my life/memory/growth and I don't even know you.


Damn.

Friday, October 25, 2013

For years upon years I've had a lump in my left breast. I can't remember the moment of noticing it. The first doctor I mentioned it to listened to my description and nodded, immediately diagnosing it as fibrocystic breast disease(it's quite common and means the breasts are succeptible to cysts/lumpy tissue). I didn't think much of it. A few years passed and another doctor checked it out and advised I get a second opinion. This lump would become more prominent every month with my cycle--to the point where it hurt to go downstairs. It's an area sore to the touch at times. It stays in the same place. It can get aggravated with caffeine-intake. Signs point to cyst. As I said, lots of women have them and they are usually harmless.

About a month ago during a self-examination(yes I do them and yes you should too) I noticed a new lump. This one showed up on its own, out of sync with my cycle so it made me raise an eyebrow. It also feels a little different. More...solid? Bead-like? I don't know how to describe it.

In short, I went to the doctor last night and now I have to get a breast ultrasound at the hospital since the lump is new. The doctor can't determine if the new lump is a similar cyst or something potentially problematic. It's newness is a concern.

I left the doctor feeling pretty bummed. I was hoping that I could get out of there without having to subject myself to more poking/prodding/tests. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want to wait on more results. I don't want cysts in my breasts.

I talked to my dad on the phone this morning and told him, which I felt a little hesitant about. My grandmother, his mother, had cancer. I remember seeing her double masectomy scars as a child. I hate worrying him about anything, especially health-related. Plus I don't want to reveal the worry in my own voice.

The ultrasound is Tuesday at the hospital, during lunch. All will be fine. I'm hoping for the best.

Also, I've heard a lot of talk about Mercury being in retrograde, and how that has a tendency to fuck things up. I think I can work with it though. The past few months have been surprising, slightly wild. A planet going backwards while I'm falling in love and finishing a book? Sure why not. Moonwalk on, Mercury. I got you.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

a name and a place

Book title, official:

ligaments of light tigering the shoulders

Also, I am going to Egypt in December.

More soon.

Friday, October 18, 2013

venting about writing

Poems. Prose. Scrawled & barely legible lines on the receipts loose leaf in my bag. I shake my fist smudged with pen at you. I shake the pen too until ink jiggles in its capsule. I am Seymour pleading with his Audrey II as he squeezes another drop of blood into her verdant maw.

Poems and prose and orphaned stanzas--I aim to buy a house with all that silver you shove into the blue hammocks slung under both eyes. I intend to spend it all on getting you right. You glare at me and clip your wings. Your hems drag on the floors until they are no longer hems. Until they are edges gone missing, two ankles swirling in bite marks of fabric.

You break all my plates. Fill my pillowcase with bees.

But nothing in this world can touch the veins strapped on the meat of my heart except you. Dear writing you pluck them until they threaten to break, until the color in their arched posing fades where tension grows exhausted. You with your jelly fangs and ridiculous wants. You who will not be calm nor satisfied. Your Rube Goldberg ways. Your hatred for the porch light.

I do not ever want to be satisfied though sometimes I could use a break from your boot on my neck. Your tail of a head and four thousand bodies all running different directions.

You are Aceyalone's Love and Hate. The compact of my Medusa. You texture my lungs and keep me alive. Writing, you wear me out but I can't stop dancing, can't let you quit leading. When you leave you never slam the door. It stands ajar in your wake, a mouth wanting to say something. That pressure before you blow in again, heavy with bags and travel. Your hair color changed, your hands the same. Together we tape up your postcards that I've torn in two.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Last night I worked the door at an event downtown. Took my manuscript with me after not even looking at the thing for nearly 2 weeks. The break started as an accident and continued due to being too sick to care. Then I realized the break was needed. Last night was a welcomed surprise--more edits done, I read through everything. I feel better about the work. Confident, even. After feeling like absolute death for days on end I needed a good thing like that. A reminder--the work is necessary.

It was nice to work an event last night--it forced me to be social(again, needed). I tend to hermit like a champion, especially after a drawn out migraine. Reality doesn't fit right for a few days. Working the party granted me access to random small talk and lots of new people, but being stationed in one area of the room gave me enough downtime to breathe and observe. Observations: lipstick can be really red, almost blue. A boxer came in post-fight with his entourage. His champion belts sat on a table in a pile, until someone posed with them looped over each shoulder, grin in the flash. I had to do the math on an index card to figure out the cut off year for our 21 and over crowd(it's 1992--HOW OLD YA FEELIN' NOW?). J cut me loose the last hour so I could get on the dance floor, which I had been wanting to do all night. A rum and coke cost 8 dollars(when I winced, the scrawny guy tending bar nodded and said "yeahhhh...they're pricey here."). I drove home after 2am laughing along to a comedy podcast.

I've been thinking about timing--how a lot of things seem to depend on it, how a lot of things couldn't give two fucks about timing or right place/right moment/shortest distance. Some extraordinary things are happening in my life right now--on one hand I believe these things extend from proper timing; on the other hand the timing, logistics-wise, might not make sense. I suppose it's all in how you define it. There is a lot that I do not talk about in this space, on purpose--I find that I cherish privacy more with each passing year. For now these extraordinary things might best be left to the unsaid, the not described. For now I will say I am happy and hopeful. I'm intrigued by the current, and curious about the future in a way that makes the heart beat faster. It is mighty wonderful.

More soon.