the mEp
m a r c h    2001
Lyrics of Life
zoom zoom zoom april

saturday, march 31 2001

how happy i am, how happy am i.
stretching, a fuzzybrained poots is snow-encased on this last day of march.

sunday, march 25 2001

the only female in business class(comma), i awake in a large dark vessel of sleeping people. a million stars greet my sleepy gaze to the right and a streak of early reddish sunrise breaks an artic horizon to the left. if i'm lucky the tall blond one will notice i'm now a member of the waking (including, pray, the pilots) and bring me fresh OJ and a towel.

(she did)

thursday, march 15 2001
"a winding path, just like a sinuous country road, seduces us into slowing down and looking around.
It teaches us the delicious pleasure of idleness."
Barbara Blossum Ashmun, Garden Retreats

tuesday, march 13 2001

if i'm getting drunk; it's because i worked today.

monday, march 12 2001                      blessed be.

8:01 am

i lounge around
the lights are on
i watch the clock
i'm still at home

i can see clearly now; rain or shine
i believe there is a path for each of us
honesty is crucial and difficult, and difficult
tell yourself about this path - be true to it
rub your eyes in disbelief
transform it;
and bring it with you
at any cost.

p a t i e n c e .

smile little poots; 17 muscles can't be wrong.

i don't know if you can hear me
or if you're even there,
i don't know if you will listen
to a humble prayer
they tell me i am just an outcast
i shouldn't speak to you
still i see your face and wonder;
were you once an outcast too,
God help the outcasts hungry from birth
show them the mercy they don't find on earth
the lost and forgotten,
they look to you still
God help the outcasts, or nobody will
i don't know if there's a reason
why some are blessed, some not.
why the few you seem to favor,
they fear us, flee us, try not to see us
God help the outcasts, the tattered the torn,
seeking an answer to why they were born,
Winds of misfortune, have blown them about
you made the outcasts, don't cast them out.
the poor and unlucky, the weak and the odd,
i thought we all were the children of God
-Alan Menken/Stephen Schwartz

sunday, march 11 2001 - - - and the Phillipino woman spoke of relationships
MY world is broken into tiny portholes through which i evaulate the complexity and simplicity of my interactions. the world that i call my very own is so utterly simplistic that no one believes in it except me. the next most simplest is my marriage. how many of us can say that, i'm not too sure.
and for that i am eternally thankful. however, i must bounce from world to world and all at a moment's notice; and even if i'm bouncing from simple worlds, it still becomes difficult to maintain the highest level of intraction in each of them. it's in this bouncing that i become complex.

i assumed that by getting older, interacting in the older people's world would become easier and easier, yet it's not. i feel that my smiles are fake and i hope that they don't notice. they tell me of things i already know; they talk of subjects well-worn. they laugh at jokes seemingly obvious to me. all of a sudden my simple world becomes complex. there's a discrepancy building which throws me off. as if i'm on a stage with an extremely captive audience of deaf people.

friday, march 09 2001
only ever so slightly-burned coffee on my over-well-slept lips, the pot is empty now, not brimming, not perking. even from the inside here, the jet engines subside although the ringing in my ears has not. Harper's noise story was not gripping enough to keep my eyes inside the plane; as some safeness force kept my curiosity peaked with brut fascination as we climbed to 33,000.

he watched the fascination, fixation with money in that place, while i only saw an emptiness, a lack of, the void that all of that empty non-breakfast serving square footage seemed to represent. perhaps akin to a large desert, where one wanders endlessly seeking water, plenty of space to wonder what in fact they are walking to and from. an emptiness that is endless square footage yet poor lighting and no soap dish in the shower. families live in rooms smaller than that bathroom. i look away.

singing, praying,

i look away.

Monday, /march has arrived, 2001
i'm growing every year; tackling bigger life events, standing more solidly on two feet. my wants and needs metamorphose, my perspective is honed, and sometimes it seems like i lose bits along the way. some unmissed, and some bits i liked; like a connection with the people with the small kitchen. of course to some; to many, i am the people with the small kitchen - we know everything is highly relevant. i'd like to say that sometimes i head in the wrong direction; that sometimes i find myself pointing directly opposite of the vague direction of the goal posts. this does not mean that all the bits i leave behind are not the flowers along the way. it doesn't mean that in order to reach my final destination i might not have to swerve along the way, might not have to keep looking upwards before i look back down again. i believe that must be the plan, since i spend so much time thinking about it as i'm losing connectivity with the ones who are not.
photos galery LA


copyright Poot's Place 2001