tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214489582024-02-28T09:20:29.574-06:00no mouth but some serpent's::: but the world shall end when I forget :::Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1427363471317210352009-08-26T09:40:00.001-06:002009-08-26T09:43:51.401-06:00henna is poetryI marked her arms, <br />orange glow and paste-green, <br />the ghost of other flowers left behind. <br /><br />/\/\/\<br /><br />Ink on skin, words against breast,<br />I became a book of history,<br />a memoir of myself.<br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-10590737991570745582009-06-20T13:14:00.004-06:002009-06-20T13:19:33.711-06:00teach this storm A thing or two about whirlingBring the pure wine of love & freedom. <br />But sir, a tornado is coming. <br />More wine, we'll teach this storm <br />A thing or two about whirling. <br /><br />-<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rumi">مولانا جلال الدین محمد بلخى ~ Mawlānā Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Balkhī</a><br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23iranelection">#iranelection on twitter</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-80452567698251671382008-05-06T16:10:00.018-06:002008-05-06T16:42:15.872-06:00Seis de MayoI don't like being the designated driver, especially when it's a last minute thing or a 'oh my god you idiots can't drive' kind of thing. Also, I'm mean to drunks. They won't remember, so surely it's my right to castigate their idiocy? <br /> <br />I also do not like it when there is no room on the dance floor, and what little room there is, is taken up by people that couldn't shake their ass if their life depended on it. >_< <br /> <br />I do however like Cinnabar perfume. The imp begged me to try some, but I had my doubts. No more! I am INTOXICATING and in love. Wow. My first sniff (I sprayed into the box) was a little disappointing, but a tiny spray to my wrist had me smelling myself all afternoon. <br /> <br />And today, I have a cashmere robe that is a dull rusty orange colour. <br /> <br />Overall, I am pleased.<br /><br /><br /><br />Margaritas<br />keep me on my toes,<br />but I stumble in your arms.<br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-38411008996526514772008-03-17T11:11:00.003-06:002008-05-06T16:42:42.496-06:00A clover-less dayI posted this to the lustbites blog as part of their contest and thought I'd post it here too. It was party in response to the news, back around Valentine's Day, that Saudi vice police were banning red roses (and apparently anything red!) causing the black market prices on roses to skyrocket.<br /><br />The first line has a double meaning both verb and adjective. Read it however you feel best suits. I also changed the word 'leaves' from petals. Mistype!<br /><br /><br /><br />We were forbidden roses,<br /><br />so I made petals of your lips, licking their softness, teasing your tongue into my mouth—<br /><br />a bud, a trembling flower your body became,<br /><br />and I tasted you, memorising you, tasting you as bees might, suckling from you a sweeter honey, my fingers brushing against precious petals, bruising you in a blush of roses, leaving my mark for others to know, <br /><br />how forbidden you are—<br /><br />and one last time I trick the flower your body has become, easing inside you, feeling you curl around me, furling leaves like a vine. <br /><br />We are forbidden roses,<br /><br />forbidden lovers.<br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-64344479073045156142008-03-10T14:02:00.002-06:002008-05-06T16:42:51.914-06:00old poetryThe smoky burn of incense <br />leaves me thinking of <br />your scented hair <br />in heaven.<br />Your gilt face <br />much colder than my memories,<br />I kissed your lips <br />when no one looked. <br /><br /><br />2004 or something like.<br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-50180495122099749192008-02-14T17:49:00.010-06:002008-05-06T16:43:11.051-06:00A DesertHere is something a little different from my norm, and after such a long time. Haha, I sort of forgot, I guess, about this thing that was supposed to be my 'reminder to write something every day.' Out of sight, out of mind. I got a Nintendo DS today too. I suppose I'll be out of time soon as well. <br /><br />Speaking of 'out of' this line from Swinburne's At Eleusis just took me and like everything Swinburne, I ran with it. This was supposed to be an entry for something, but then I forgot about it. I probably got cold feet. Anyway, a drabble on the desert, one of my favourite subjects of all. <br /><br /><hr size="1" color="#CC7354"><br /><br />A Desert<br /><br /><br /><font size="2" face="Times New Roman"><br /> when time got wing to fly <br />This Hades out of summer <br />Swinburne</font><br /><br /><br />The desert was nothing like he’d expected. <br /><br />He’d expected heat, just not this scorching swelter; starkness, just not this desolation; and he’d expected the strangeness of not understanding, just not this strange. The culture, language, <i>the body language</i>, and the constant soundtrack of traffic. He couldn’t create meaning in it. <br /><br />It took three trips on camel before he understood the sand in his clothes, on the inside of his socks, in pockets he didn’t know he had, and under his arms. <br /><br />Suddenly, he discerned meaning everywhere—<br />in each voice, <br />in every touch, <br />in the nothingness of staring at the horizon.<br /><br /><br /><hr size="1" color="#CC7354"><br />Also of inspirational note, but I couldn't really work it in:<br /><br /><i>Thy two wings are spread out like a falcon with thick plumage, like the hawk seen in the evening traversing the sky.<br /><br />He flies who flies; this king ... flies away from you, ye mortals. He is not of the earth, he is of the sky.</i><br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-21999867011499408272007-08-30T13:04:00.001-06:002008-05-06T16:43:23.032-06:00lost in spaceyou were light-years behind me<br />and when I turned,<br />to return,<br />you were already gone<br /><br /><br /><br />i spin, waiting,<br />and forget myself<br />amidst stars<br /><br /><br /><br />you eclipsed my path<br />and left me<br />for other darknesses<br /><br /><br /><br />i came to be<br />in massive fires of gas<br />and i remember<br />every burning touch<br /><br /><p align="right"><font color="#CC7354"><br />: : : : : :: :::</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1641761024191102012007-08-28T09:54:00.000-06:002007-08-30T13:04:46.684-06:00lost in the supermarketyour barefoot voice<br />pulls me to you<br />with two grassy arms<br /><br /><br />Well, that was a long wait. I'm planning a wine party, plotting a wedding (not mine; perish the thought), and creating two worlds, one complete with language and culture and I'm already forgetting, <i>I have a story to write</i>. <br /><br />Sometimes I find the creation for more entertaining, especially after watching The History Channel and getting inspired. My dominant culture now has a huge tattoo-ing industry, but it's a fairly classist (not classicist) society with a certain sort of caste system in place, so tattoos equal rank, prestige, power, class, or, conversely, display a lack of the former. Slaves are marked in a certain way. Tattoos are expensive, a luxury, and only highly trained professionals do the work. Tattoo removal is practically unheard of due to cost/health/recovery, but possible.<br /><br />There is, of course, a burgeoning black market for tattoos, but only the desperate turn to this. Brothels, renegades, criminals (obviously) and the like. <br /><br />Soo.... my imprisoned concubine has a peacock across his lower back. It is an incomplete tattoo for reasons which are not yet to be divulged. Our... antagonist has wings across his shoulders. The top wingtip curls just over shoulders pointing upwards. <br /><br />Tattoos can also hold religious significance I have decided. But this is not common. It is a holdover amongst certain segments of society that are probably, descendants of the old Salouri culture. It is also a Hazouri trait (descendant branch of the extinct Salouri) and that, in turn, makes it distasteful to the bulk of Luscatian society. <br /><br />eta: Oh, I have just decided! The religious class is going to be made up, in large part, by descendants of the Salouri. Not wholly, mind you, but a large part. They are, however, distinctly Luscatian, not holding on to what once was, but still, they have the memory of marking themselves for God, and the Luscatians prefer to mark for pleasure and power. Also, possibly, the idea of being marked for God after spending the night with a prostitute marked for pleasure, they feel, is hypocritical and it makes them feel guilty. Just as they should, would say the priests of Luscat. Although, religious tattooing is done by the priests, as ritual, and isn't for display. <br /><br />So... upper arms, back of neck, thighs, chest, these are the places for religious tattoos. Regular tattoos would be seen when unclothed, but most who have them display them. Not quite like the prostitutes display, but, say, a removed shirt on a man in certain areas would not be unseemly. Shoulders and upper back are most popular for men of rank, power, et cet. Lower back is solely the location of tattoos for prostitutes and concubines, however, there are certain tattoos that would not be found on a prostitute unless he/she'd come from the court harem. These prostitutes obviously command a high price. The prostitutes are not above 'enhancing' their past to up the dollars.<br /><br />This is, of course, forbidden and those found professing a history they do not have are charged with a crime, and the tattoo artist found to have created a suitable imitation of the court harem work will be charged as well. (Or in rare cases offered a respectable job, but this is rare.)<br /><br />Ok, end of eta.<br /><br />Well. <br /><br />There we go.<br /><br />Now for wine.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-17063843323391842642007-06-29T23:15:00.000-06:002007-06-30T00:00:55.501-06:00let us go hence;I've always thought of myself as a multi-tasker, and yes, I can hold a conversation and type at the same time (fast and accurately to boot!) but when it comes to real, actual focused attention, like, oh say, the subject I'm throwing myself into to become an authority (even if only to myself because I only care that *I* know what I'm trying to know, not whether anyone else knows if I do or do not know said subject) then I do indeed face a bit of a problem. I don't love my children equally, see. One is cute, the other is striking. One is funny, the other serious. One cat is fat and snuggly, the other likes a bit of rough love. <br /><br />And so it is with pursuits of the mind. I'm completely caught up in the autism (would be trial of the century) vaccine debate currently being argued in DC Claims. <br /><br />The subject of autism is hardly new to me, but never have I been one to voraciously consume, on a daily basis, any and all information pertaining to it... until now. ^_^<br /><br />Whether or not I'm Aspergian could be up for debate, but re the last parenthetical aside above, I'm primarily interested in knowing that *I* am happy with what I know; I don't care if anyone else concurs or not. Well, perhaps if they completely disagreed I'd be interested in hearing why, but only if they had a good, sound argument. =P On the other hand, Chairwoman D said fairly tersely, when I asked if she'd read the Asperger's documentation that I'd sent her, that yes, much of it did sound quite like me. It was only moments later that she refused to look at me any longer and gave me the finger with both hands. Now, lest you think she's being vulgar, in our household that's short for 'I love you, you asshole'. I think she was calling me a <i>pedantic</i> asshole, but as she didn't say so explicitly, I couldn't testify to it.<br /><br />As for the autism versus vaccine debate... I'm not turning this into an autism blog (but good lord, can I get back to the poetry?) really, but I have to ponder via keypad somewhere because really, no one I know has any knowledge whatsoever of either side and when I mention it (very, very careful not to launch into monologue, but oh god, it's hard!) they sort of nod and 'ahh. oh. really? uh-huh. So is that file done yet?' <br /><br />There is mention of the absence of adults with autism on the other side of the fence. In my first readings (where I was very much new to the fierce nature of the debate) I wondered 'haven't they seen Rainman?' And what about that guy that was non-verbal yet imitated blues musicians so well he could hardly be told apart from them? I remember that from when I was in school. He'd have to be... oh... 50+ at least. And he wasn't the only autistic man around in the mid-90s. <br /><br />My next personal query came at the idea that there really is no autism, just mercury poisoning that is mis-diagnosed. Now, call me an armchair hack, but, this is the group I want to see: the elders suffering mercury poisoning that show symptoms of autism. Where are they? If that's what autism really is, mere mercury poisoning, then where are the adults with mercury poisoning by autism proxy? MPAP. There, I've just invented a new syndrome. Call me Dr Anactoria, please. <br /><br />Last but not least, I finally got move and it is BLESSFULLY quiet. I can come home and sit in complete silence (well, it is a flat, so some sounds occur, but not the State Finals tumbling and wrestling match sounds that I used to hear.) Of course, now that I'm on the top, I'm paranoid about making noise and the steps that go into the living room? There IS no silent spot. They are ALL squeaky spots. ugh. <br /><br />Right now I hear crickets and they are driving me mad, but that's partially because I have a migraine. Damnit. <br /><br />Back to Saiyuki Reload. <br /><br /><a href="http://autismdiva.blogspot.com">Autism Diva</a><br />I don't know who sees this, but if you are interested in the autism trial, see this blog for the best roundup day to day, of the trial. She has a lot of links listed that are excellent.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2169459/">slate.com - True Believers: Why there's no dispelling the myth that vaccines cause autism.</a><br />I read this tidy little article today. If I actually found someone who's interest was held on this subject, I'd point them here.<br /><br />My main concern (well, one) with this trial is that it elucidates a rather frightening illustration of the breakdown of the average person's understanding of not just science, but cause and effect, coincidence (no, there are no coincidences, I think, but that doesn't make every single 'action a' equal the first noticeable 'result 1') and simple reasoning.<br /><br />I'm reminded of an episode of the Simpsons:<br /><br />Homer: Not a bear in sight. The Bear Patrol must be working like a <br /> charm.<br /> Lisa: That's spacious [anactoria says 'this should read 'specious'] reasoning, Dad.<br />Homer: Thank you, dear.<br /> Lisa: By your logic I could claim that this rock keeps tigers away.<br />Homer: Oh, how does it work?<br /> Lisa: It doesn't work.<br />Homer: Uh-huh.<br /> Lisa: It's just a stupid rock.<br />Homer: Uh-huh.<br /> Lisa: But I don't see any tigers around, do you?<br /> [Homer thinks of this, then pulls out some money]<br />Homer: Lisa, I want to buy your rock.<br /> [Lisa refuses at first, then takes the exchange]<br /><br />[quote text from <a href="http://snpp.com/episodes/3F20.html">The Simpsons Archive</a><br /><br /><i>Specious reasoning</i>. Maybe vaccines gave me migraines, too.<br /><br /><br />curtains of rain<br />needle the grass<br />into submissionUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1144361801504437102007-06-01T16:14:00.000-06:002007-06-01T13:18:29.229-06:00Bellydance & Yoga[this post in progress]<br /><br />I'll keep editing and updating this. It's a bit of a resource, but also maybe a little pressure/inspiration to myself. <br /><br />I've danced all my life. Well, most of it. The parts I remember. It got pretty second nature. I'm one of those people who stand with my feet in a V position. I'm standing in first. That's a ballet position. It was hammered into me for nearly 15 years; I can't help it. <br /><br />But I got disillusioned by mean girls and plagued with headaches so I gave it up for a while. In the course of stuyding yoga I came across <i>Bellydance</i>. Yeah, there were some people I didn't like, but I was a little older and a lot less caring. I've been doing that ever since. Except for a break that has pushed near two years. I really need to change that. <br /><br />::hip drop shimmy figure 8::<br /><br />I lost my dancing soul sister and my dad got very ill. Took out my desire to dance. But now I need it, I miss it, I long for it and I'm desperate for it. <br /><br />These are resources that I frequent. Eventually I'll post a little about each site, because what is dance but poetry in motion?<br /> <h2>Bellydance</h2><br /><ul><li><a href="http://www.zilltech.com/">Aziza Sa'id's Middle Eastern Belly Dance Site</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.bdancer.com/">Belly Dance Home Page </a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.belly-dance.org/">Belly Dance Museum</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.bhuz.com/">Bhuz</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.dahlal.com/new_site/index.php">Dahlal</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.davina.org/">Dawn Devine Brown</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.desertmoondance.com/index.htm">Desert Moon Dance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/lod/vol5/middle_eastern.html">Exactly What Is Middle Eastern Dance?</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.helene-eriksen.de/">Helene Eriksen</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.middleeasterndance.homestead.com">Middle Eastern Dance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.hpo.net/users/mishaal/">Mishaal's Sacred Earth Bellydance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.shanmonster.com/belly/">Omphalo Stepses Bellydance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.bdancer.com/history/">Origins of Oriental Dance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.ghazalrohani.com/">Persian and Middle Eastern Dance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.bellydanceuk.co.uk/">Professional Bellydance UK</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://home.earthlink.net/~rcfriend/">Robyn's World of Iranian Dance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.shira.net">Shira's Art of Middle Eastern Dance</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.snakehips.com/">Snakehips - The Book</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://costumegoddess.com/">The Costume Goddess</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.joyofbellydancing.com/index.htm">Yasmina's Joy of Belly Dancing</a></li></ul><br /> <h2>Yoga</h2><br /><ul><li><a href="http://www.yogabasics.com/asana/index.html">Yoga Basics Asana Index</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.yogabasics.com/">Yoga Basics</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/">Yoga Journal</a></li><br /><li><a href="http://www.yrec.org/index.html">Yoga Research and Education Center </a></li></ul>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-60846225279468952572007-05-31T14:35:00.000-06:002007-05-31T14:45:07.149-06:00the ebb and the flowMy aunts' cat died. She was a feral cat they had adopted and was a pretttty cat. a loner, but not skittish. Being in a poetry zone of late, I sat down to write a haiku for her & them. <br /><br />The hangup persisted. I couldn't write while planning to write. That's one of the reasons I like online journals. I open a post, spit something out and I'm done. 'Good' isn't the point, getting something out, expressing something is. I may come back, like I did with ٲلمغرب and rewrite into something that is, relatively, subjectively, good. And that's all I need!<br /><br />Anyway, what I wanted to say didn't fit cleanly into the haiku I was trying to write. I gave up and lit upon the idea of a cinquain. Very similar to haiku in ideas of syllabic constraint (though I don't adhere to that in writing haiku) and brevity, there are rules and you follow them. And if you don't, who cares, but still. It's nice to have a boundary sometime, right?<br /><br />Here then, is my second ever cinquain. For the record, it just sort of flowed out. I like that. <br /><br />{Izzy}<br /><br />Feral <br />Our own wild fur<br />Free to follow the wind<br />You won’t leave us, you will remain<br />Untamed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-68264365748679159662007-05-21T15:18:00.000-06:002007-05-21T16:16:12.354-06:00Thinking in TurkishWe are not meant to dream.<br />We should slip into night,<br />Unaware. <br />Floating, sinking, falling,<br />--like pearls in the water--<br />to rest at the bottom,<br />Unaware<br />We were ever anywhere else.<br /><br />I wanted to write a ghazal (I want to write a lot of Turkish styles, save for being in the Turkish language as <i>I don't know that yet.</i>) and have for a long time. Rather than starting fresh (and being in that state of mind that is painfully aware of what I'm trying not to be aware of) I thought I'd cheat and take something already written and see if I could turn it into a ghazal. <br /><br />A first attempt yield this, from the above.<br /><br /><br />You are not meant to dream, pearl in the water,<br />You sink, slipping into night, unaware. <br /><br />We should not dream, pearls dancing in water, <br />floating, in the dark, falling, unaware.<br /><br />I do not dream, pearls at my neck,<br />pulled apart by gravity, snapping, unaware.<br /><br />I wake with pearls in my hands, never having dreamt,<br />my dreams do not rise, but I do, and I wear pearls, unaware.<br /><br /><br />I'm not sold on it at first take. I'll continue playing with it. I have a horrible headache today and can only think about that really. I also have a mango waiting for me to dine on its flesh. <br /><br />salted mango<br />sticks to my fingers<br />tasting of bright sunlight<br /><br />or<br /><br />salted mango<br />tasting of bright sunlight<br />sticks to my fingersUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-62551153815708980862007-05-18T13:18:00.000-06:002007-05-18T13:41:43.278-06:00Rearranging on FridaysI got to thinking about my closing haiku yesterday and I think a better arrangement is:<br /><br />cut grass falls<br />on the side of the road<br />buildings grow <br /><br />I don't write poetry like I used to and I miss that spontaneous loquaciousness that I used to have. I mean, maybe it wasn't great, but I felt much more accomplished. And I sat down and <i>wrote</i>. Now it seems that when I have the time to sit down and write poetry (versus prose, which is completely different) I have this feeling that I'm sitting down 'to write poetry'. The mindset is completely different and I stall before I engage. <br /><br />It's hard to let go of that concept, to quite those monkeys, to slip just beneath that line of demarcation that isn't a line at all, because once you point at it, you see. And the point, the goal, is not to see it, let alone look for it. <br /><br />Thus, writing poetry becomes meditation and, following on yesterday's theme: is the appreciation of others always important? I know it is for some. A certain crowd out in the world needs praise, needs to be told how good they are, and how much talent they have. I would posit that poetry was 'written to be poetry' versus those who <i>write</i>. They write for themselves, and let those who appreciate, do. That is poetry that is written. <br /><br />Of course I could just be philoso-meta-ing something that needn't be done so. I just get bored with attitudes of 'I know better than you and I don't like what you've created and obviously I don't like you either if that's what you come up with.' Especially when it isn't followed up with at least a modicum of 'perhaps you could try x, y, z to help with the a, b, c.' <br /><br />Ultimately, the question is, can I write a set of haiku (three sets of three) that aren't in the strict 5/7/5 syllabic structure, that are less than 20 syllables and that has a chance rhyme in the last lines? We shall see. <br /><br />uncoiling<br />a dancer moves<br />to winding flutesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-37227563497905361902007-05-17T10:53:00.000-06:002007-05-17T11:04:32.102-06:00How to and what to do when someone says you 'how to'd' wrongI'm now in a poetry group (yes, I know it's been decades) and said poetry group is comprised of mostly older adults and, ehem, professionals. Looking younger than I am is not a benefit amongst this group I think, and looking, ehem, as subversive as I guess I appear, is just one more knock. <br /><br />My friend that I attend with is far more upstanding than I, but she's also ::gasp:: young. And she writes simple, sweet poetry that moves with a gentle rhythm. <br /><br />Goodness, what we must represent to these hallowed bastions of What Poetry Is and We Will Also Tell You What It Is Not. The women (the men are polite and encouraging when they aren't silent, hobbled by FEMININE POE-OUTRAGE) tend to be quite... well, let's just say they go for the critique without doing much in the way of constructing. Unless, apparently, they like you, or you are 'old enough' to pass their test. <br /><br />When I heard 'it's good to want to be different, but' I knew I was swimming in suspicious waters. <br /><br />Sadly, I missed the last meeting and wasn't there when my friend's poem got bludgeoned, along with her sense of self. Perhaps I'm too polite to say 'that's juvenile shite, right?' to anyone's creation, but maybe that will garner me some points? <br /><br />Next week is the next meeting and I'm doing haiku. (Someone just brought me a free turkey sandwich!) See, my friend told me she once read a villanelle and they <i>didn't know what it was</i> and harangued her for her attempt. O_O So, I figure they'll know exactly what haiku is and will no doubt tell me exactly How Wrong I am Doing It. Because they would know. <br /><br />Cut grass falls<br />Buildings grow <br />on the side of the roadUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1160689564358984582006-10-12T15:45:00.000-06:002006-10-12T15:46:04.370-06:00[moved]What's the most extreme weather you've been in? A memorable storm? Heat wave? Or something else?<br /><br />I guess this is as good a place to start as any! Here I am avoiding chores again. <br /><br />Well, we have our share of combined heat/humidity here and I do remember a power outage once in the summer and mother had some M&Ms she was going to bake with that actually sort of exploded from the chocolat inside melting. But being in the south, heat and humidity is the norm. What really does us in is the cold when it comes with ice and snow. Yankees Northerners come down and mock southerners for not being able to drive on ice, in the snow, et cetera. Well, we have snow of any account (that is, more than half an inch) once every decade if we are lucky, so yeah, why would we? It's like people in El Paso knowing how to drive in the rain. They don't. Why would they? It never rains for more than ten minutes and when it does, it floods. <br /><br />Once winter we had my grandmother stay with us as the weather was particularly cold and getting treacherous. Our power went out so she slept with me and we were in sleeping bags with blankets piled on top of us. I filled my bag with my stuffed animals so they wouldn't get cold either. >_> <br /><br />The power didn't come back on and it was going to be days before it did. The city was covered in ice. So we went to my aunt's who still had power and a bit more room. The four of us joined the three of them. Then, my other aunt and uncle, with no power and out in the country joined in: four more people. Ok, the house wasn't that big. My uncle (the uncle of the original house, not a visitor) couldn't take it and went out to see what sort of good he could do; removing limbs, helping the elderly, deliving food, he was just that sort of person. <br /><br />In the end I think we were all there for nearly a week. For the kids it was just playing, fighting, making up and playing again. We played a lot of He-Man. I still remember Skeletor fondly. Our fishtank at home froze nearly solid. I don't recall how big it was, 75 gallons maybe? I can stretch my arms out and it's about the length it was. We had one of those sucker fish (placostamus?) that we'd had since he was tiny and he'd grown to almost 8 inches. It was sad. We never had fish after that. <br /><br />El Paso gets very hot. One summer we were out there and our AC went out about 6 hours outside of the city. I spritzed dad with a spray bottle of water and we rode with the windows down. The next morning mom and I took the car to a dealership to get it repaired and while waiting for the ride back the radio news said 'Goooood Morning El Paso! It's 10am and 104º!' That's too cheery a voice for that kind of heat. On the other hand, I've heard people in Mesilla, NM complain about the high humidity. 'Oh I can't take this, it must be what, 30%?' HAHA. Try 100% humidity with no rain. At least you can escape to the shade. Here, the shade just drips on you. <br /><br />In Zagora, Morocco however I experienced the most amazing heat outside of a kerosene heater. It was estimated to be 135º but as this was July I assume it could have been higher after the guy up north told us they lie about the weather there just to make sure poeple won't avoid it. We would get in the pool just to cool off, not swim or goof off. Just hover in the water and slowly climb out. We were bone dry in five minutes, like we'd never been in the water. Martin came down and asked 'Aren't you getting in the water?' 'We've been. Twice. We're resting.' <br /><br />Saw a tornado once. Luckily we were driving the opposity direction. It removed my cousin's apartment building completely. Gone. Her father came home from a business trip that night and thought 'wow, I'm really tired, this seems like a longer walk than normal.' He walked straight to the building behind them over where theirs used to be. So yeah, it was a nasty one. All the power was out as we drove home and mom was driving like a bat out of hell. She never drives like that so I know she was scared.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1144364912831164472006-04-06T16:50:00.000-06:002006-05-30T13:43:23.383-06:00controlling the weather and first crusheshttp://web.njit.edu/~ronkowit/poetsonline/prompt.htm<br />"magic thinking"<br /><br />when i wanted rain,<br />i got thunderstorms and lightning,<br />but never snow<br /><br />i convince them to grow,<br />assuming the plants hear me<br />(but never snow)<br /><br />i find lost treasure<br />by wishing and hoping<br />but never just snow.<br /><br /><br />and no, this isn't part of the prompt, but something made me start thinking and well, it reminded me of something. <br /><br />i can't tell a girl<br />i think she's pretty,<br />(like nothing i'd ever seen) <br />i'm too young to think of words like<br />'enchanting' and 'enraptured'<br />but i knew what they felt like <br />(never mind when i saw her again<br />in high school the remnants were there<br />but that pretty little girl,<br />so so enchantingly pretty,<br />was gone, replaced by a thin,<br />mean, harsh, stark girl <br />never mind that)<br />i couldn't help but stare. <br />she was prettier than any doll,<br />eyes like candy, <br />we weren't friends. <br />i just liked to look at her. <br />i knew i couldn't tell her <br />how pretty she was. <br />i couldn't tell anybody.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1139440719742047522006-02-08T16:47:00.000-06:002006-03-21T11:48:05.396-06:00i'm notFar be it for me to presume what others are thinking, but. But. <br /><br />Sometime ago I composed a post in my head and it was really good. I promptly forgot it. But later on I remembered bits and pieces of it. I just never remembered what prompted it. <br /><br />There were elements of my natural, seemingly inborn scepticism, my innate doubt (wound tester perhaps? I dunno) and my distrust/dislike of people but at the same time, the way I'm often charmed by them and. Well, ok, not so much that last part. I forgot the elements involving the last part. <br /><br />I remember being on the army base back when the hospital somewhere where it was before where it is now. Maybe this was a clinic for GIs. It was long ago. I haven't the faintest clue of how old I was. Young. Very young. Tiny. Wee. I don't know if I was with Mummy or Daddy, but what I do recall is being alone--not the scared, where is everyone alone, just, 'wait right here little girl, the authorities are telling you what to do' kind of alone. A soldier boy gets my attention. And boy he must have been. I don't recall anything about him, but he had to be young. He was just a GI. He got my attention. I watched him warily, like a cat watches someone who has them cornered. I don't think I was old enough to be suspicious, but I do recall having the vaguest feeling of doubt. <br /><br />Did I remind him of a younger sister? A niece? A cousin? Some dear female relative? Perhaps. But I shook my head. I didn't go. He continued to beckon, waving me over, trying to convince me. He wasn't ever crude or mean I don't <i>think</i>. I have the slightest feeling that toward the end he might have got slightly frustrated, and oh yes, I think he had a bandaged foot. Looking back I can't see what he would have wanted out of me. He couldn't have had candy to offer. ^_~ On the other hand, there was little privacy, so I don't think he could have hurt me. But I can't second guess him on either count. Maybe I did remind him of someone. Maybe she was better off with him far away. <br /><br />Some years later, many years later, I found myself at a computer convention with my parents. I think I was around 14/15. Nice and impressionable. And a <i>girl</i> at a computer convention. I was eyeing a hot programmer and struck up a conversation with a nice man, about 10+ years my senior. (Nice, but not the hot programmer. Oh and he was cute. I <i>still</i> remember his lovely brown hair.) Pleasant, but... there was that same doubt that I'd had some 10-12 years previous tickling the back of my head like a thin wire. Nothing substantial, nothing to point at or touch, but I could feel it nonetheless. He asked if I wanted to go out for a walk to his car. Here I should point out that he had a cane and limp. I don't know if it was temporary or permanent. Perhaps he needed to make sure he wasn't alone for the venture and had assistance if he needed it. Perhaps he just enjoyed my company and was a genuinely nice man. Perhaps other girls have since found out different. <br /><br />I choose not to second guess and I think I'd rather be closed. <br /><br />his hands touch me and<br />when it hurts i breath hard, cry--<br />i hear dogs barking<br /><br /><br />him<br />uneasy trust<br />touching me please don't touch (me)<br />i didn't think it'd feel like this<br />you<br /><br /><br />[i'm not]<br /><br />please do not touch me<br />open skies, low cut, salsa<br />don't assume i'm--stars<br /><br />forget--when i dance,<br />and i don't know what they see,<br />i'm not here for you,<br /><br />stargazing, dancing--<br />(i forget they always will)<br />sometimes it's the same<br /><br />the sky never looks<br />so please, do not touch me, and<br />don't assume i'm yoursUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1138126061043484152006-01-24T11:57:00.000-06:002006-01-24T12:37:19.126-06:00winter desertshttp://web.njit.edu/~ronkowit/poetsonline/prompt.htm<br />"in the moment"<br /><br /><br />i closed my eyes and--<br />sunwarm air melting my skin<br />--it's still winter here<br />___________________<br /><br />skies too clear too dark<br />i can see thousands of years<br />i don't notice winter's chill<br />___________________<br /><br />saffron heat<br />orange<br />and desert red<br />no one<br />forgets al-maghrebUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1138123455126205952006-01-23T11:23:00.000-06:002006-01-24T11:57:07.066-06:00the new starti wished for a storm--<br />late at night<br />i heard rain fall.<br />this month is too warm.<br /><br />I'll let other people talk about migraines. I find that if I talk about them, I think about them and migraines, being in one's head, tend to get in your head, when you let them in your head. So. I'm having an MRI soon anyway. We'll see how that goes. <br /><br />http://www.dailywriting.net/<br />http://web.njit.edu/~ronkowit/poetsonline/<br />http://www.writersdigest.com/<br />http://www.writersdigest.com/writingprompts.asp<br /><br />1/10/2006: Finish the following sentence as someone 10 years younger/older than you: The only thing I ever wanted was … .—From The Pocket Muse. <br /><br />The only thing I ever wanted was steady ground beneath my feet. Ground that didn't move and shake like an earthquake, a train station, trick flooring, ground that I could call my own, that wasn't begged, borrowed or stolen and when I found that ground, I'd kiss it and the feet that walked upon it. But that day hasn't come yet and this ground too shakes and shudders, begged and stained, maybe tomorrow I'll go. I have to keep searching.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21448958.post-1138125071163237032006-01-02T11:49:00.000-06:002006-01-24T11:56:39.100-06:00Reading ListI got tired of this on the side... Eventually I'll cull this to something manageable... I do read these. Anyway.<br /><br />::: misc :::<br /> <a href="http://www.cdrfaq.org/">Andy Andy McFadden's CD-Recordable FAQ</a><br /> <a href="http://www.bookwhores.com/index.html">Book Whore</a><br /> <a href="http://cavemanchemistry.com">Caveman Chemistry</a><br /> <a href="http://www.emmadavies.net/">Emma Davies</a><br /> <a href="http://www.friesian.com">Friesian</a><br /> <a href="http://www.gyre.org/">GYRE</a><br /> <a href="http://www.illwillpress.com">Ill Will Press - Foamy</a><br /> <a href="http://www.subterrane.com/loremipsum.shtml">Lorem ipsum generator</a><br /> <a href="http://www.lycaeum.org/">Lycaeum</a><br /> <a href="http://www.migrationinformation.org/">Migration Information</a><br /> <a href="http://www.mybackyard.com/index.htm">My Back Yard</a><br /> <a href="http://www.poppies.org/">Papaver Somniferum</a><br /> <a href="http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/indexfull.html">The Leaky Cauldron</a><br /> <a href="http://www.theonering.net/index.shtml">The One Ring</a><br /> <a href="http://www.reddwarf.co.uk/">Red Dwarf</a><br /> <a href="http://www.pointlesswasteoftime.com/index.html">Pointless Waste of Time</a><br /><br />::: more misc :::<br /> <a href="http://www.canadianhouseandhome.com/index2.php">Canadian House and Home</a><br /> <a href="http://www.ucomics.com/calvinandhobbes/">Calvin & Hobbes</a><br /> <a href="http://www.castlesinthesand.com/">Castles in the Sand</a><br /> <a href="http://www.unitedmedia.com/comics/getfuzzy/">Get Fuzzy</a><br /> <a href="http://www.farshchian.org/images/picpage.htm">Mahmoud Farshchian</a><br /> <a href="http://www.gothosenterprises.com/mythobiology.html">Mythobiology</a><br /> <a href="http://www.ucomics.com/nonsequitur/">Non Sequitur</a><br /> <a href="http://www.unitedmedia.com/comics/pearls/index.html">Pearls Before Swine</a><br /> <a href="http://www.unitedmedia.com/wash/pickles/index.html">Pickles</a><br /> <a href="http://snpp.com/">Simpsons Archive</a><br /> <a href="http://www.ucomics.com/boondocks/">The Boondocks</a><br /> <a href="http://www.thebanmappingproject.com/">Theban Mapping Project</a><br /> <a href="http://www.thinkarete.com/">think arete</a><br /> <a href="http://www.thrivenet.com/articles/iqidiocy.html">thrivenet</a><br /> <a href="http://tuaregs.free.fr/">Tuaregs</a><br /> <a href="http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/allnews/page.cfm?objectid=11963136&method=full&siteid=50143">Zarmina's Story</a><br /><br /><br />::: reading library :::<br /> <a href="http://www.americansforpalestine.org/aaper/index.shtml">AAPER</a><br /> <a href="http://www.ap-agenda.org/initiative.htm">Alternative Palestinian Agenda - Peace Initiative</a><br /> <a href="http://alternet.org/index.html">AlterNet Top Stories</a><br /> <a href="http://www.prospect.org/">The American Prospect</a><br /> <a href="http://www.arabnews.com/">Arab News</a><br /> <a href="http://nigelparry.com/diary/">A Personal Diary of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict by Nigel Parry</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.bahraini.tv/index.php/frontpage/">Bahraini.TV - News Articles</a><br /> <a href="http://www.buzzflash.com/">BuzzFlash - Daily Headlines and Breaking News</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://basque.unr.edu/">Center for Basque Studies</a><br /> <a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2000/genome/story/overview/">CNN Specials - Blueprint of the Body Overview</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.echoecho.com/index.html">Echoecho.com</a><br /> <a href="http://electronicintifada.net/new.shtml">Electronic Intifada</a><br /> <a href="http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/Goldman/">Emma Goldman</a><br /> <a href="http://www.epa.gov">Environmental Protection Agency</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://thedagger.com/index.html">Dagger, The</a> <br /> <a href="http://www.dangerouscitizen.com/default.aspx">Dangerous Citizen</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/">Guardian Unlimited</a><br /> <a href="http://guerrillanews.com/">Guerrilla News</a><br /> <a href="http://www.gyre.org/">gyre</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.hactivist.com/">Hactivist.com tactical media collective</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.imaginationatwork.com/Imagine?_nolivecache">Imagination at Work!</a><br /> <a href="http://www.theinsider.org/">Insider.org, The</a><br /> <a href="http://www.iranian.com/today.html">Iranian, The</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.kissmyface.com/Index.pasp?">Kiss My Face</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.markfiore.com/">Mark Fiore</a> <br /> <a href="http://www.mediachannel.org/">MediaChannel.org - A Global Network of Over 1000 Media Issues Groups</a><br /> <a href="http://mediareform.net/">Media Reform</a><br /> <a href="http://www.moveon.org/">MoveOn.org</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.bluelight.nu/">New Blue Light, The</a> <br /><br /> <a href="http://www.opendemocracy.net/home/index.jsp">openDemocracy</a><br /> <a href="http://www.megastories.com/index.shtml">Out There News</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.palestinechronicle.com/">Palestine Chronicle</a><br /> <a href="http://www.palestinemonitor.org/">Palestine Monitor - Voice Of Civil Society</a><br /> <a href="http://prorev.com/">Progressive Review</a><br /> <a href="http://www.projectcensored.org/default.html">Project:Censored</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.thesimon.com/index.html">Simon, The</a><br /> <a href="http://www.serve.com/cpage/LCohen/lyrics/">Smudged Air</a><br /> <a href="http://www.sumeria.net/index.html">Sumeria</a><br /> <a href="http://www.translatum.gr/etexts/sunil/cv.htm">Sunil K. Poolani - Journalist, Writer</a><br /> <a href="http://emporium.turnpike.net/P/ProRev/suspect.htm">Suspect</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.bisso.com/ujg/">Uncle Jazzbeau's Gallimaufrey</a><br /> <a href="http://www.unobserver.com/">UNObserver & International Report</a><br /> <a href="http://urbanlegends.about.com/">urbanlegends-at-about-dot-com</a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.virtualiran.com/">Virtual Iran</a><br /> <a href="http://www.voa.gov/programs/audio/realaudio/">Voice of America RealAudio Server</a><br /> <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/liveonline/02/home/home0418.htm">Washingtonpost.com Live Online</a><br /> <a href="http://www.williamgibsonbooks.com/index.asp">William Gibson</a><br /> <a href="http://www.ww3report.com/78.html">World War 3 Report #78</a><br /> <a href="http://waff.com/">WAFF.com - Home</a><br /> <a href="http://wrmc.middlebury.edu/wrmc.shtml">WRMC 91.1 FM Middlebury</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0