Today, I fell in love with Rachmaninoff all over again. Some friends and I spent the early part of the afternoon soaking up the incredible sounds of the Philharmonia of the Nations in the sunfilled atrium of 2 World Financial Center.
I will save the details for another day, but it was an afternoon I will never forget.
I sat down to write a prayer for you,
but only tears came.
Reflections of the people who love you
flooded my mind,
and I asked God to spare your life -
they need you more than he.
I thought of all the nights
spent giggling in your basement
tying up your phoneline
for hours at a time.
You are a strong woman, Red.
We all need you to be fierce now.
I have no words,
but pleadings
that God may watch over you this night
and wake you in the morning.
We love you PT, be strong.
No longer merely on the cover of my textbook, but here, in random order. . .
***
Morning sunlight,
mellow and warm
clouds passing
as heliotropes
bend their faces
to share in its hope,
its promise
for the new day.
*
Do you think Little Sister could
ever paint something as supremely
vibrant as his tone?
*
“Cubism” -
sharp
and fractious.
*
I wonder if there’s ever
a togetherness that can know this space
as the aloneness does.
*
The singularity of spirit yields,
gives rise to,
releases
a new horizon
that can’t be otherwise
known or beheld.
*
Rivers,
the blood of the earth,
obey no one.
They pass peace,
unleash rage
such that every man fears.
He fears –
for his life,
for his family -
that she’ll carry away his footprints,
the very proof of his existence.
*
The congos,
come like a heartbeat,
from far away
reminding me,
that my feet,
belong to the Earth
and not the sky.
*
They are little boys
who first jammed
in a treehouse,
beating the hell outta
their mommas’ wooden spoons,
pots and pans.
*
The voice from his horn
truer than any word uttered –
each crescendo nuanced,
with the subtle hues of hope –
each tone inflected
with the shades of compromise.
*
A sense of urgency
imbedded
in a samba.
*
He took me
to a grassy hill
I had never known
*
And Dexter Gordon looked on. . .
*
Making tracks on
the hardened sand
with an identity the
dunes don’t allow.
*
You weren’t with us at first
but now you’re here.
*
I soak you in
through my skin
and feel you
in my blood.
*
the intricacies
of it
the supreme
technicality
shatters
and explodes
as emotion
rises like the oceans
spilling out
beyond the borders
of your being
seeping into ours
*
who is
your
cell keeper?
*
Sounds
rich as any
Arabian jewels.
*
like gold flowing
through my veins
*
When did jazz
take up the pain
of white kids
from the suburbs?
*
When she’s feeling love,
she takes him
any time of day
or night
she is his captor
and he her prey
*
I fall at your feet,
a prisoner -
dangerously unable
to finish a thought –
swept away by you.
*
I wonder if he knows
how many nights
he’s taken me to bed,
lulled me to sleep.
*
“Now!” Alhi hollars
throwing a punch –
but Aaron holds back –
“Not yet. . .”
*
There are layers to him
the likes of which
I’d never have known
were it not for tonight.
*
Your music
seeps below the callous
that keeps the acid of the world
from getting near my heart
*
Starfire
meets energy personified
and the two undertake
a cosmic bossa nova
*
Power -
transversing the earth -
in white tennis shoes.
*
Precious
your giggle
at trying to jump in
hesitating
like flirting
with Double Dutch.
*
And again I was transported
to that porch
where Don Juan
welcomed the morning sun
of New Mexico.
*
He took me
to the dark and quiet side of the moon
where everything
is cool and still
And I awoke
in a little cafe
where all was red
and the scent of coffee
flooded my senses.
*
The continents,
the languages
fuse
meld
into one energy
one life force
time.
*
Masters
stirring the soul
of the Universe.
*
There is nothing
like the brightness of your eyes
when your heart meets the groove.
*
Supreme Arrogance
Did the women in Tunisia
know how beautiful
their carpets were
all those years
before they were
sent across the sea
to hang on the wall
of this penthouse or that?
*
Where did the daylight go?
The story of a young woman struggling with depression.
*
Darkness is lurking –
its evil imprint,
apparent.
*
Immortalized in these lines,
hung on a riff
*
The duality of purpose,
of existence,
of being everywhere in all things.
*
A bubblegum striped tie
leading beats
that are
anything but.
*
Smokey breezes of urbanity
choke children,
lurk on doorsteps
for unsuspecting prey
*
directed by sidewalks,
by maps,
that lead me nowhere
*
driving rhythm
*
It ain’t easy.
Nuthin ever is.
*
Something familiar,
something new.
*
Honeycombs of fire,
tangy & sweet.
A caramel lava
sinking into the senses
the metamorphosis
of day, of time
*
each in separate spheres
coalescing along thin ribbons
*
Artists prefer
the mystique of night
over the commonness –
the material demand –
of day
*
Crumb and Coltrane
cascade over
Buddha
in a sullen
Chinese reflecting garden
*
What is ten feet?
Can that distance be measured
when you are a part of me?
Ten thousand miles
or across time
we are still one.
*
3-5-3
try my hand
at diamante
and like it
5-7-5
. . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . .
*
My words converge
with your sound
collide
explode
in shards
like a supernova
*
You took a blue-ribbon medal
off a star
and crowned me with it.
*
Measured time
and little glass boxes
into which everything
fits
every element
requisite for being
*
The city mosaic
captured vertically
and horizontally
in mirror image
and reverse
then tied end-to-end
in a knot
*
A tigress’ eye
*
wipe your blood ink
across these pages –
shattered illusions of
a girl that never was
*
self-congratulatory thanks
*
It is in this place
that money does not matter
Nor does color
or creed
In fact, none of the divisive
categories of man
*
I love how you stand –
as I imagine you did
as a small child,
one foot atop the other,
too small for the horn
you would command.
Okay, so I've been absent from web space for quite some time. I assure you it was with good reason though. Things have been on the extreme side of busy-ish here. I'm thinking I should follow the Van Wilder model and hire an assistant. Wouldn't that be hilarious, a little undergrad running around behind me taking notes feverishly on a Palm Pilot.
Tonight, while my friends are partying it up at a club downtown, I'm at home being the nerd and trying to catch up on homework. I offered anyone willing double the covercharge to spend the evening helping me research organic coffee companies. Sadly, there were no takers.
I was running out the door this morning, late for class, and as I looked down to lock the door, I realized I had a bloody nose. It was one of those mornings.
The front of my toothpaste-green sweater had a big ooze of blood down it. Not only did I have to turn around and change (making me even later), I had to throw away my sweater. Damn that sucks.
My ears just celebrated some of the most amazing music they have ever witnessed. I was ten feet away from a man whose sound I've immortalized. I felt like one of those cartoon characters whose tongue rolls out at the sight of him and sat googley-eyed soaking every subtle nuance of the music.
F@*#$% Amazing.
This weekend I'll post some of the many things I wrote while wallowing in inspiration.
Spent the past week in Austin, Texas working on some stuff for an enormous project for next year.
I was looking forward to some balmy weather. Instead, it was 45 degrees. And grey. And raining. I didn't even know it got that cold in Texas!
On top of it, there were a multitude of other issues. Take for instance, my flight. I left on Thursday morning right after my first class (skipping my second) and got to the airport only to find out that the non-stop direct flight I had purchased for a ridiculous sum wasn't non-stop at all. In fact, on Thursday I flew from LaGuardia to Minneapolis to Memphis to Austin. Grrr...
But wait, it gets better.
Saturday, I connected with the person at UofT (Go Longhorns!) that was supposed to be coordinating several company tours on Sunday morning only to find out that they had cancelled them due to lack of interest. This was annoying considering I had booked a late afternoon flight just to accommodate them in my schedule.
So, I called Northwest and inquired as to the likelihood of being able to fly standby and get out of Austin in the morning (thereby getting home to NYC by afternoon and having time to prepare for the conference I was hosting for 125 alumni of the Dual Degree Assoc. Monday night). NWA told me no problem, there were four flights before mine and each had good availability.
So, after partying like an animal with friends Saturday night, I got up at 7am and went to the airport. Because of the open seats, NWA had downsized the flight (sent a smaller plane) and I could not go Standby. By noon, it was clear that I was going to have to sit in the airport until my 4:00pm flight.
But wait! When I told the ticketing agent I'd just keep the ticketed flight I had, he said. . ."But, I can get you into LaGuardia two hours earlier." So I said, "Okay."
Big mistake. BIG.
Long story short, I got on a plane and flew to Detroit. Meanwhile, my luggage (including my books and homework for the week) got on a plane and flew to Memphis.
When I arrived at Detroit and tried to check in, they said but we don't have you ticketed to New York, you're just standby. There's no way we can get you out tonight, it's Sunday and everything is overbooked. (At which point my blood pressure rises on account of frustration, lack of sleep, mental fatigue, anxiety over the next day's conference, mounds of junk food etc.) So I add myself to the standby lists for two flights and can't get on either one.
I had dinner (it's now 7pm - 12 hours since I began my journey) and called the NWA reservations line to try to get on any flight to NYC that night (even if I have to connect through Atlanta). The agent is a total and complete Uber-Bitch. I was irrate. The only way she was going to get me from Detroit to NYC was if I bought a $160 ticket! I told her where to go.
I then had a slight breakdown in the airport on account of being out of money, stranded, exhausted and having just found out that all my shit was in Memphis. Thank god for the kindness of a woman behind the counter who took pity on me and switched me to the top of the standby list in the computer. On the final flight of the night, there was 1 seat open on the plane. ONE.
I am soooooo grateful to that woman.
When I got on, I fastened my seatbelt and told the person sitting next to me that if they tried to bump me off they'd have to pry the buckle from my cold, dead hands. I got home sometime around midnight and it took another hour to wait in the queue for a taxi back into Manhattan.
It's been a long week. I could use some sunshine. If you have any extra, could you pass it my way? Thanks, I appreciate it.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Me and Dad hanging out this summer. . .
View image
For all the things you've taught me, all your words of encouragement during late night chats at the kitchen table, for hanging out fishing and having endless patience. You're the greatest, I love you.
Yesterday, I had an interview taped at school. And as I was watching a clip of it, I realized how much I resembled the siamese twin version of Mike Wazowski. It struck me so funny I had to explain it to the interviewer. I don't know if it was the suit I had on or what, but the screen was all eyes. We had a pretty good laugh.
Last night on my way home, I saw an old man on the subway platform combing his hair with a plastic fork and started to cry. It was raining and cold, and had been all day. The stations were filled with homeless men. It is nights like those that men are turned away from shelters already brimming with women and children.
The insufferable cruelty of humankind
is underestimated on sunny days.
We go about the silly routines of our lives
unaware of our own sense of entitlement,
of how insignificant the sources of our stress.
It is in these moments
when the mirror of reality
reflects a vision of myself
on the other side of
the thin line called prosperity
that I realize the desperateness,
the immediacy of my inaction.
There is so much more I could be doing,
should be doing,
to battle the grip of poverty. . .
I will try harder
I will make a difference,
somewhere,
for someone.
“What is it about him that makes you love him so much?”
Stephan said impatiently,
as the lights of the city stretched across the taxi windows
on our way home Friday night.
The ease and sincerity of my answer frustrated him even more.
“Everything. His seriousness, his silliness, his incredible humility.
The entire person he is. I would do anything for him,”
I replied staring out the window without turning to look at him.
The breeze coming in was warm as we cruised down Madison Ave.
I could feel the tears coming and breathed deeply,
hoping the wind would sweep them away.
Carl was in the front seat, bristling at the unnatural tension.
Stephan wasn’t going to let the subject go.
In a searing attempt to hurt me, he retorted,
“Well, he obviously doesn’t want you,
so why don’t you just move on?”
I wanted to scream at him –
Because it’s like trying to change your fingerprints,
some things are just a part of you!
Not that you would know,
since you’ve never loved anyone but yourself
a day in your life you self-aggrandizing egotistical bastard!
But I didn’t say anything,
and Carl turned around to see if I was okay.
I took a shallow breath, and said quietly,
“Because it’s not that easy. He’s a part of who I am.”
My tone made it clear I didn’t expect him to understand.
And he looked away with a huff.
Carl interjected to diffuse the situation.
“That must be really hard for you,” he said.
I was thankful for his presence.
“It is, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
It just is what it is,” I said, and turned back to the window.
“If he finds the One and it isn’t me,
but she’s good to him and makes him happy,
then I would stand up and love her too.
And no matter how excruciating it would be,
I would lock away my feelings and never mention it again.”
Trying to bring closure to the conversation he said,
“He’s lucky, not many people have someone like you in their lives.”
But Stephan was determined to make it an open wound.
“He’s probably sleeping with a different girl every night,”
he snarled.
“And he’s free to do that,” I said.
“He doesn’t owe me anything,
and I wouldn’t care about him any less if he did.”
“So why don’t you just fuck and get it over with?” he said sharply,
trying to shock me.
“What would that prove?” I asked.
“If we did, that would be our choice, no one else’s.
And if things didn’t work out -
if we weren’t meant to be together -
we’d still be a part of one another’s lives sixty years from now
because we’ll always be friends. That’s just how we are.”
“Why does this make you so pissed off?” I asked.
“Do you want the phone number of every guy I’ve ever dated?
‘Cuz I’m sure Chad or Dave or Wayne or Brian or someone
would love to talk to you. Maybe you could start a little club or something.”
I was getting mad. This guy barely frickin’ knows me
and has the audacity to cut on the person I care about?!?
I wanted to reach over, open his door and shove him out of the moving cab.
“How about everyone I’ve ever slept with?
You could call them too.
Ask them if they were just stand-ins.
I’m sure you could come up with enough dirt to vilify me,
maybe make yourself feel a little better.
And correct me if I’m wrong, but you have a girlfriend on the other coast.
My personal life involves you in no way, shape or form,” I snapped,
nearly losing my composure.
I could see Carl crack a smile,
and sat back in my seat ready to reload.
Stephan didn’t say anything else the rest of the way home.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he realized how asinine he was being,
or if he was content in having destroyed how happy I had been.
At the stop lights I opened the door,
fished a five out of my coat pocket, tossed it at Carl, and got out.
I slammed the door and kept walking.
I’d rather be alone forever than end up with a callous drone like that.
"The truest measure of a man is the woman in his corner."
It's been a while since I've posted quotes from the calendar. Here's the latest collection of notables:
"Tranquil pleasures last the longest" - Christian Bovee
"The loving are the daring" - Bayard Taylor
"Let us love without reasoning about it, and we shall find ourselves filled with love before others have found out the reasons that lead to loving" - Jeanne-Marie de la Motte Guyon
"Man is free at the moment he wishes to be" - Voltaire
"More than kisses, letters mingle souls" - John Donne
Lots and lots of words lately,
floods of them,
but none captured here.
They're pooling
behind a screen -
perhaps imposed,
perhaps false
or self-inflicted.
Others try to blind me,
rewrite my values,
my future, my past,
and I will not let them.
I teeter between worlds
refusing to go too fast -
I've seen what happens then,
the people who've gotten lost,
thrown their lives away,
sacrificed everything that matters.
Note to self:
Hold fast, you'll find your place,
your purpose, your peace.