We appear briefly in history
if we show at all
just one brief shining moment
our light barely has time
to travel the length of our most distant star
before it has gone
extinguished
with all our hopes and dreams.
In light of this short window
I choose to shine brightly
so that my glow
will last the length of the universe
and back again.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
An Angry Letter, unsent...
Dear _____________,
Why the fuck won't you send me my pictures? Do you realize this makes you more of a scumbag than that fat englishman who took six months to pay me back the 400 dollars he borrowed, at least he had the excuse of not having a job. What fucking excuse do you have for being such a prick? Is the postal service too complicated for you? Do you not understand how to buy stamps? Was it not enough to break my heart, must you now humiliate me further by withholding this one last thing? Keeping me tethered to my mail box always searching for word of you? You are a fucking asshole. There is no question about it, you are a prick. I shall stick to what I said last August; of all the scum bags I have known you are by far the worst. At least the others were decent enough to feel shame.
And I'd send you this letter but I can not see the point. I loved you once at expense of myself. It cost me pieces of my heart, my mind, my soul, my freedom, my body, my energy, my spirt, and my hope. And once you'd spent your pieces of eight, you made off like a pirate with the bounty of my love. So may you grow like a onion with your head in the ground. Even with all your layers you are forever upside down and obscured by dirt. You make me want to spend my nights looking up Yiddish curses. If I met you on the street or outside of the acupuncturists office I could hurl them at you the way the British and French forces compelled themselves over the battlements at the Somme.
Do the right thing and know that I will not think poorly of you. Or don't and know that I should hope to see you on one leg and that you should see me with one eye.
Shalom,
TGG
Why the fuck won't you send me my pictures? Do you realize this makes you more of a scumbag than that fat englishman who took six months to pay me back the 400 dollars he borrowed, at least he had the excuse of not having a job. What fucking excuse do you have for being such a prick? Is the postal service too complicated for you? Do you not understand how to buy stamps? Was it not enough to break my heart, must you now humiliate me further by withholding this one last thing? Keeping me tethered to my mail box always searching for word of you? You are a fucking asshole. There is no question about it, you are a prick. I shall stick to what I said last August; of all the scum bags I have known you are by far the worst. At least the others were decent enough to feel shame.
And I'd send you this letter but I can not see the point. I loved you once at expense of myself. It cost me pieces of my heart, my mind, my soul, my freedom, my body, my energy, my spirt, and my hope. And once you'd spent your pieces of eight, you made off like a pirate with the bounty of my love. So may you grow like a onion with your head in the ground. Even with all your layers you are forever upside down and obscured by dirt. You make me want to spend my nights looking up Yiddish curses. If I met you on the street or outside of the acupuncturists office I could hurl them at you the way the British and French forces compelled themselves over the battlements at the Somme.
Do the right thing and know that I will not think poorly of you. Or don't and know that I should hope to see you on one leg and that you should see me with one eye.
Shalom,
TGG
Friday, February 24, 2012
kissing you breaks my heart (Desire)
With every sweet vanilla kiss,
my body aches and arches
bending, contorting, stretching
to find satisfaction.
your teasing touches
craft desire out of distance.
sweet whimpers in my ear
send shivers down my spine.
and I wish with every fiber
to be like other girls;
heady with desire,
desperate with need,
easily gratified by the kind caresses
the soft touches
that your teasing tongue implies.
II.
my body aches and arches
bending, contorting, stretching
to find satisfaction.
your teasing touches
craft desire out of distance.
sweet whimpers in my ear
send shivers down my spine.
and I wish with every fiber
to be like other girls;
heady with desire,
desperate with need,
easily gratified by the kind caresses
the soft touches
that your teasing tongue implies.
II.
yet even as desire mounts
reality crashes in
dragging my wishful thinking out
to see truth lying naked
in the streets of my mind;
toying with a dull penny
bored with a toy,
that only yesterday
seemed new.
frustration builds
finding its way
into my flesh,
electric.
I miss the sweet sting
the transfer of power
as you light up my skin
turn me red with desire.
III
Kissing you breaks my heart
makes me wish for ordinary
reduces my hopes
leaves me wanting more
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Steinbeck letter about love
New York
November 10, 1958
November 10, 1958
Dear Thom:
We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.
First -- if you are in love -- that's a good thing -- that's about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don't let anyone make it small or light to you.
Second -- There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you -- of kindness and consideration and respect -- not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn't know you had.
You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply -- of course it isn't puppy love.
But I don't think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it -- and that I can tell you.
Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.
The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.
If you love someone -- there is no possible harm in saying so -- only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.
Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.
It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another -- but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.
Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I'm glad you have it.
We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.
And don't worry about losing. If it is right, it happens -- The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
Love,
Fa
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/01/john-steinbeck-on-falling-in-love-a-1958-letter/251375/
Monday, February 13, 2012
Last month on the 9th...*
Last month
on the 9th
It was Richard Nixon's birthday
and the nightly news said nothing.
The Monday night dancers
tangled on the floor
"You are my sunshine" floated over the crowd
as I finished the blues with Jacob.
the accordion of time
exhaled one note
between Memories
and your front door.
Then the newest stranger knocked,
ready to collect her things and vanish
like so much wind over dried grass.
As you spoke
movie theatre projectors
Spilled from your mouth
clattered on the floor
made a mess our story
Last month
On the 9th
My father’s ghost turned 68
Blueberry Kush swirled
In the back of my head
gathered in my living room
made a phantasm of my pain.
*subject to revision at any time and actively soliciting comments.
Parsimony is a state of grace...
Loneliness breeds a collection of words
They gather dust in dead letters
Murdered before the post
Cramped hands stained with ink
bemoan your fickle fleeting fancy
the futility of it all.
Parsimony is a state of grace.
A nirvana only reached
through fasting, prayer and meditation.
When the fullness of my own heart
replaces all lost love.
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