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| Saturday, May 23rd, 2009 | | 5:21 pm |
hells yeah
monologue and burlesque for those of you who couldnt make it. yes, i'm wearing pasties. gangsta what? | | Friday, May 22nd, 2009 | | 3:49 pm |
BURLESQUE SHOW!!!
Hey all I'm in a burlesque show tonight in the city if any of y'all wanna come. Details include... One Red Glove One Red Nose, An Evening of Clowning and Burlesque May 22 10 pm at Broadway Comedy Club 53rd st. between 8th and 9th ave Manhattan, NY $10 and two drinks www.oneredgloveonerednose.wordpress.com  Show should last about an hour and a half, a bunch of acts but they're all around 3 minutes or under so it goes by quickly and man oh man are they awesome. SO MUCH FUN WILL BE HAD!!! Come and support if you're able! | | Friday, May 1st, 2009 | | 1:02 pm |
Teaching Fellows
Dear Interweb folks, I have been accepted to the new york city teaching fellows! im all kinds of pumped about it but am a little hesitant. i applied in the hopes that i would be able to teach high school english and said i wouldnt take it if i was offered anything else. however, i have decided i actually want to teach elementary school but i have been accepted to teach multi-subject special ed. this means elementary age, so yay, but special education focus. on the one hand, if i took it i'd be getting my masters degree almost entirely paid for and at the end of it all i'd have 2 maybe 3 years teaching experience and a degree. on the other hand, i'd be teaching something i wasnt exactly geeked out about while going to school and having nearly no social life. one friend says its doable IF i'm really excited about what i'm going to be teaching. here's my question. in 3 years, after i get my degree, i'd most likely want to move back to california to teach. i realize every state has its own tests one must take to teach there, but if i got this degree, would it transfer over? if i'd been teaching sped, is it easy to apply for elementary school jobs NOT in sped? or would i have to get another kind of degree? i could always say no, apply for grad schools and take that route. i could also say yes, and if i dont like it, quit. i'd be making a lot of money (compared to now) and it's two birds with one stone. degree and experience. lots of things are leaning towards yes, but if this degree is not really taking me closer to teaching what i want to teach i dont want to do it. i have one week to decide. anyone have any thoughts? | | 12:57 am |
30/30. done. le sigh.
Lover, if you find yourself in Brooklyn meet me at the halfway point between brilliance and awkward, nick-name me lullaby, I will sing you awake, hold me steady over all the things you’ve buried in the ground and I will grow them into sunflowers not because it’s meaningful, but because I think they’re beautiful. paint my nails with your tongue, dance me steady beneath a black light, watch how I glow, cradle my hand in yours like your vision depended on it and I will draw you a symphony so bold you’ll be able to define faith. | | Wednesday, April 29th, 2009 | | 9:43 pm |
29/30
not sure about this. the prompt was to write a fear and then make it the town of said fear but i dont really know if this worked. whatever. here goes. in the town of gang rape women stroll down the sidewalk waiting for a car, a pick up truck, a Rolls Royce, a 1964 jet black chevelle a woman is chosen and when the door opens, there is only enough room for one she will be pulled in by her hair sit cramped with the men who all foam at the mouth hungry for the salt on her skin they like to wait until they’ve reached a clearing before going in for the first taste make jokes at her expense, corner her into them until she’s shaking spit on her yell “your throat is a nice place for my dick” to see how many belly laughs they can get from their pack the medical team in this town is there for when she is too ripped too bloody, too soft from the bruising to be any fun they nurse her back to Barbie all slick skinned and tight the girls rotate street shifts when not walking, they live in glass houses the heavy set girls are on 3rd street the black girls on 5th asian women are split by country on every street beyond 9th if you want punk chicks you gotta head to the alleys the good Christian girls took over the old Lombardo Hotel the tomboys were given tents to take to the stadium there are no strip clubs only whore houses filled entirely with men everything for every appetite this town is a buffet a perfect place to show your manhood as long as you come with friends | | Monday, April 27th, 2009 | | 11:33 am |
28/30 a day early
the man with 5 faces never laid a hand on her kept mostly to himself, picking his teeth in the back eyes in a squint when no one was watching all hugs and smiles in the light yesterday, report of an accident one face caught on fire, skin peeled melted like raw meat slipping off the counter when she saw him again, the only familiar face gone, she couldn’t know him even his posture had shifted she found the face in the local bar’s trash can buried in empty bottles, soaked napkins and cherry stems pulled it up from underneath set it on the stool to her left she put her hand to the pulpy mess invasive, an archeologist of scars slid it down what was once a cheek fingered where the eyes used to be she leaned in close, peeked inside the mouth saw a severed finger with a painted nail a breast, full and bruised, an engagement ring, bent the picture of herself she had given him 10 years ago cut up the middle right between the legs | | 10:41 am |
27/30
sometimes you lose yourself in the dance sometimes you find yourself there 8 count, go lower, bigger facials, really straighten the arm couldn’t fouette if my life depended on it but could learn a hip hop 8 count after seeing it once faked jazz enough because I knew how to walk a stage a friend once said he was only a poet because no one had paid him to be a dancer or a painter or a musician how do we define our art in one word? joy comes from performance for me I treat all competition the same don’t drop a line, stay in the piece, connect with at least one person or don’t misstep, hold your moves, hit it full out, have a good time never give a fuck about how you place it’s not the accolades, it’s the feeling it’s the family late night rehearsals, repeating repeating repeating repeating knowing you nailed it knowing people are listening, people are watching someone is right there with you and man oh man can you move | | 10:07 am |
for reals.
sorry about the EVALUATION COPY thing, but so far this is the only way that has been successful for getting these dvd clips to be youtube friendly. senior year. i'm second from the left. | | 1:01 am |
26/30
1. It’s late and my eyes are burning the cat has puked on the decorative pillows again and my ears have been trying to convince me what is being said into them is not true he’s sick. it could be serious. he’s moving. no one’s hiring and he can’t make rent. he’s guilty. he’s really guilty. they say when it rains, well, everything gets wet despite sunny weather, my bedroom is floating I know I can handle a lot at one time I was born with webbed feet for when the weather turned storm but that doesn’t make the paddling any easier 2. this morning when asked by his mother “are we going to play soccer today? are we going to see coach Christine today?” one of my two year olds responded “I’m going to see my lady” and he meant me and it made my day. this evening, she told me she covers my poems made me feel like I was wanted here like I mattered here wasn’t simply tolerated, or dealt with, but respected loved, even like big gushy heart 3. remember silver lining remember webbed feet remember one slow breath at a time. | | Sunday, April 26th, 2009 | | 12:44 am |
25/30
A Small Something to Consider I’m allergic to grass which makes romantic outdoor activities itchy but I’m still in love with park picnics. if you bring a blanket for two, really good music and goldfish crackers I’ll kiss you at the end of the day. | | Friday, April 24th, 2009 | | 3:47 pm |
23/30 cause its funny :)
No Hobo Ghazal, after GJKT Damn, I’m all out of cigarettes, mind if I bum a few off you? no hobo. since you just dropped your bread on the ground, do you mind if I eat it? 35 second rule, no hobo. I’m so glad you liked my set! listen, can I crash on your couch? no hobo. my slippers have duct tape so I can wear them outside. no hobo. don’t mind the leak, there’s a hole in my roof and I haven’t changed out the cardboard in two weeks. no hobo. how great is my scarf? can you believe someone just left this on the subway? no hobo. we don’t really have a laundry-mat, but you can wash your clothes in the bathtub, no hobo. just hot water, thanks, I keep tea bags and sugar packets in my purse at all times. no hobo. I didn’t have any gloves so I cut the toes off my socks. no hobo. hey, is it cool if I bring Tupperware with us to the restaurant? no hobo nah, I don’t need to do laundry, I’ll just turn my underwear inside out. no hobo. I never use napkins, saliva and jeans work just fine. no hobo. I noticed you’ve got a bunch of recyclables out back. mind if I go cash those in? no hobo. sorry cell phones don’t really work in this house there’s too much lead in the paint. no hobo. spent my last $3 on this PBR and I haven’t eaten all day. can I have some of your fries? no hobo. this is exactly why Christine does not date poets. especially the ones on tour. no hobo. | | Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009 | | 8:16 pm |
22/30
remember in 6th grade we thought practicing witchcraft was the coolest thing in the world? thought the Ouigi board was legit and weird feelings in our stomachs meant spiritual connection? remember Tom Spots? or how about when we’d sprint at lunch to be the first in line to get fries, or the hot cookies or when we’d practice our harmonies for choir on the lawn not realizing this made us complete dorks remember Annie and The Lion King? remember the dressing rooms and the make-up? or never wanting to go to the bathroom alone or guessing who’d be the first to marry (Erica) or lose their virginity (nickie) or how no one really knew whether or not H.C. was gay? (he is.) remember getting to high school like a breath of fresh air? Nikki’s boobs grew so much over the summer we thought they were fake or how on weekends when we couldn’t drive we’d walk the 45 minutes to play pool at the deli stop I bet my virginity and lost, still haven’t paid him for that one remember our romantic dramas and how much each mattered? remember when I kissed Ryan on the side of Kim’s house? he touched my boob and everyone wanted details remember beach barbeques at La Jolla shores and late nights at Wind n’ Sea where we’d get drunk and all introspective? or the party at Kim’s house where we put dish soap in the Jacuzzi and surrounded ourselves with bubbles? remember how when Jessica sang, we all stopped to listen? remember making up dances for each other’s birthdays? Kristina, remember good golly miss molly? we were friends then. when I visit San Diego, I return to a life I ran away from in college stumble down memory lane like a homeless man taking about ‘Nam we always talk about the past, a constant reunion my girls have felt abandoned and my boys didn’t care as long as I kept visiting I never wanted to go back, would tell people I grew up there but was really from the bay the person you see before you, she’s from the bay was born in Santa Cruz at the age of 18 with ghost memories of San Diego beaches but now, at 24, I find myself retracing my baby steps curling my index finger in the palm trees scrunching my toes into the dirt of my high school football field without you I’d be lost no matter who the blue phoenix was who flew out of the bay that red bird was born in San Diego, was shaped there, misses home and is so thankful for all of you. | | 11:25 am |
21/30
Pantoum for M.R. “what are you crying for, I haven’t even hit you yet” the belt snapping between his hands she knew this was coming could feel it long before any leather hit her back the belt snapping between his hands an echo of her defiance for living as a woman she could feel it long before any leather hit her back saw in his face hatred so pure it could only be paternal it echoed her defiance for living as a woman she couldn’t explain how wrong her body felt saw in his face hatred so pure it could only be paternal she took the lashes as they came she couldn’t explain how wrong her body felt figured his deformation of this skin didn’t matter she took the lashes as they came this body wasn’t hers anyway figured his deformation of this skin didn’t matter she always knew this was coming this body wasn’t hers anyway “what are you crying for, I haven’t even hit you yet” | | Tuesday, April 21st, 2009 | | 1:37 pm |
California knows how to party
hey internet world! i'm coming to california the first two weeks of june. i'll be in san diego most of the first week and then driving up to the bay the second. i'm hopefully featuring at UCSC at some point and san jose on the 8th, if anyone can get me some contact info for the san diego folks that would be awesome. fingers crossed i can do somethin at berkeley too but i'll at least be slamming there and YES!!! i'll have a new book. woot woot. also, who wants to hang out? i've got oodles of time to see some faces and embrace some hugs!!! | | Monday, April 20th, 2009 | | 11:36 pm |
20/30
it’s these late nights, the insomniacs play time, when rain gets all deep and meaningful your mind, restless, cant stop wondering what your future kid’s names will be the hum of the fan sounds like one long sigh the sounds of the cats remind you of summer camps when the rebels would sneak out of their beds run into the woods in their pajamas to kiss boys or drink beer or smoke anything you never found out exactly what cause you stayed behind eyes fixated on the wooden ceiling back in your adult room your eyes fixate on the empty pillow resting untouched on the left side of the bed you think to yourself, how will I name kids if I keep pillows this cold love has never touched these sheets something that looked like love did, it had on a strange face as if there was another one underneath it having second thoughts no one stays everyone else is sneaking out while you lay awake, eyes burning, mind wandering body still as the dead | | Sunday, April 19th, 2009 | | 8:54 pm |
19/30
A Girl Grows in Brooklyn on the east coast, the first day of warm is an explosion humans come out of the ground like ants there is a trail of them leading to afternoon bars and park picnics, all of them dressed in lighter colors and more skin than you’ve seen in months glistening with sweat, shining like freshly waxed floors all of a sudden everyone is beautiful even the crazies on the corners yelling at you to watch out for the plastic bags at their feet make your heart skip and your smile stretch you start craving margaritas, notice endless lines for ice creams and frozen yogurts, carts in front of museums are selling icies and everywhere you turn you see legs, breasts, the sun is an aphrodisiac we even begin flirting with bus stops the natives aren’t “New Yorkers” on this day, they are small town friendly, tipping hats and smiling while they pass oncoming walking traffic today I watched a father watch his daughter climb a tree once perched, she watched our soccer game from her thick branch seat he lay in the grass until she rejoined the ground they tossed a frisbee next to a family having their post-soccer picnic and I thought I live here these are my people this is what I get to do while I’m working when I got home I noticed a small sunburn exposing itself on my face a sign of a good day in Brooklyn, of time well spent, of a life I’m happy to be living | | Saturday, April 18th, 2009 | | 2:30 pm |
18/30
For my sister, Megan the night your lungs failed you I learned how it felt to grieve on February 6th I will celebrate the birthday you never could I will blow out candles with lungs you could have used you were an hourglass turned half the sand stuck to the top, wet and waiting | | 2:27 pm |
| | Thursday, April 16th, 2009 | | 10:32 pm |
16/30
For L.J. she says “the truth is, I break your heart better than anyone” and I tell her she’s right no matter how long I am kept away no matter who holds my rotten-apple heart in their hands she has a way of squeezing it just so a way that makes all the other junkyard dogs bark like houseplants the silly little thing drips in her grasp surrenders so easily, despite the advice all the other muscles learned how to reject her even my hands even the pits of my knees but my silly little rotten-apple heart crawls towards her a suicide stretch across the country leaving a pulpy trail behind for all the crows to peck at | | Wednesday, April 15th, 2009 | | 8:27 am |
15/30
He brought her a shirt he had made for her 9th birthday a shirt with strange fabrics sewn to it slapdash, completely random a puff of lace on one of the shoulders tiger skin by the ribs hot pink with black poka-dots next to the tiger skin buttons going diagonal down the front it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen but she wore it, knew its beauty she could see the pride in his eyes his bright blue eyes when he’d point and say “I made that. I made that special for her.” |
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