welcome
to
the mEp
for
january
1 9 9 9
february promises to be a very busy month
however february file is lost :-(
so let's move on to march
instead
<<picture of roller skaters on Venice Beach>>
removed for quota.
february 0 5 1 9 9 9
desfois, c'est mieux de rester chez nous
sometimes, it's nice to just stay home.
January 3 1 1 9 9 9
i wonder things like
'if i were 16 when that song
came out'
IT WOULD be a real anthem.
what kind of mental images would
it paint?
and
WHO SAYS which mental images
i, we, you, get to see?
Doesn't it bother you.
that ultimately, endlessly,
YOU'RE not in control.
ahhhhhh
can't stand that.
because who knows what could have
would have been
if things were not as they are.
things might be BIGGER
and since i'm an optimist,
BETTER.
yes. better. for some of the other half
of my brain, tiny minute moments think
i could have been MORE fortunate ?
what a laugh.
but maybe i could have WON an
olympic medal.
or perhaps SWAM across the sea.
or maybe worked as a social worker.
or anyway, realized all the DREAMS
i dream and the SONGS i sing.
all the edges of my imagination
which is really just my DREAMS
could have been probed
and then left those corners
EMPTY.
never empty, but filled again
with bigger, better, greater
schemes. i jut ended up
since i'm not in CONTROL;
at the level i sit at,
HERE.
and in the grand scheme of things
Here isn't bad
JUST leaves room
for dreaming
that's all.
january 2 9 1 9 9 9
the favorites are here
january 2 8 1 9 9 9
i'm aching
i'm dreaming
i'm drinking herbal tea
there was a deck and a house
and a room painted green
she spoke to me in the gym
my mind was elsewhere
we drove away in aa big black car
i forgot my keys max wanted to go to the park
but that was at someone else's house
maybe he could watch a movie.
(my sub-C remembered that i had not
sent an answer to her ...)
the flashing / the many thoughts at once
seem so akin to these sore-throated days.
tossing in my bed nights,
rubbing the face, whole handedly
stretching back in that black chair;
ahh but yes i waited for this.
now with shivers real the hot tea sooths
and staying in is not an option
but where oh where is berdj?
half-heartedly, i yawn.
a lose necked top tightens threateningly
wake my sense already you hot beverage.
i forgot to phone mike.
january 2 7 1 9 9 9
"it's amazing how much you can observe just by watching"
january 2 4 1 9 9 9
of course i like it here; what comes true comes true.
beauty; reflected from my life, paints itself a place.
somehow again, my world spins in a direction i
appreciate. the positive sense. accomplishments.
that is all i want, really. the fruit of my work.
something everlasting. immortal.
think, deeply about your life. this space;
this time that is yours. think about your freedom
and about those who had it removed.
why assume that those who move slowly
and with care, know better than i do.
stop wishing you would grow up;
for although you never wanted to,
it's meaning is clear to you now,
as it always was.
what happenstance was this,
that brought me here?
why would any God, choose at all?
why must i spend my life
determining that those things we cannot
understand, are not to be understood?
january 2 2 1 9 9 9
morning dogs are back. the street is clear.
the limping man has turned his round.
outside looks warm; invitingly so,
a flurry of pedestrians - beeps! from a device.
shoveling out my window loudly startles me.
a geranium reaches skyward, laps up light.
free space on the computer table scarce;
two chairs face here, one back, one empty,
and where i go, little scribbles on papers, strewn.
poots is stretching: friday has arrived.
how much can one do in one week?
this and more.
january 2 1 1 9 9 9
i bow my head to pray today
the more i have,
the more i hesitate to say
darting through my head as i read
headlines old and highlights new;
my good fortune grows with every
realization of what i have been given.
who says i was to be born here,
a land free and rich?
who says i was to be born of parents
kind and loving?
who says i was to be given the gift
of me, of mine, sisters, brothers,
and wealth i cannot count? i fear not
count. i fear not count.
"and in the end would i have said;
should have spent more time at work"
but work is what we do:
from 9 to 5
and work is what reflects us;
what allows us to be kind,
and true.
work spends our days away
work lives our lives:
in mine, to do the best i can
as they taught me.
it's not really work at all,
afterall.
stretching now there's a slight inner peace.
just ever so slight;
but peacefully serene, lets me linger here.
open the portals poots
speak up, speak out,
loudly curse what you will
your nature defies you.
perhaps the short sentances resemble prose;
that is nearly, not, the case.
for this is not rhyme, not song,
nor phantom tales. there are no goods and bads
here - no judgement days.
this is merely the mEp, my electronic pen,
what replaces of yore; volumes thick and thin.
several hundred of them, on display if you wish
where words are writ, and my life recorded.
and here in the now
my volumes grow still
in more than one way.
january 1 9 1 9 9 9
i'm becoming silent.
i watch, i listen, i speak less.
these are the winter days,
flashing by yet unumbered;
poots stumbles back some,
unaccustomed as she is
to hard work. - being a lucky soul.
some around her are the same as
they used to be-some different.
there was a time when if she was
not the center of all eyes,
she was not.
those days are of yore.
*little smile on the left of the mouth*
perhaps there are some who have
not yet left this notion behind
and deep down inside,
she wants the power of the stage;
a million eyes watching;
without selling,
without singing,
without preaching.
and here she is.
her little belly churns with motion
of smooth muscles
right hand smarts where she snapped
the tupperware lid;
and although the entire of her is avoiding
that warm wet place,
the little parts are eager to be clean.
up! poots! that's an order.
january 1 8 1 9 9 9
i don't even feel like taking a bath.
flashing, streaks, droplets cover the window.
it's really crowded there. not ocean-spray,
nor romantic, but smelling of the promise
of thaw, that romantic season it isn't yet fair
to dream about.
where are my projects;
how many burners will i wait;
i used to spend less energy from 9-6:
but i still need more than this;
still
need
more
........
there's only so long one can keep
one's back arched straight.
only so long before the crispiness
doesn't get the cheese.
january 16 1 9 9 9
a year ago we rode the ferris wheel.
he continues to reminisce;
i just make more soup.
my stance here becomes humdrum
and i dream of vacations to come
twirling my little stringy thoughts 'round
my own head.
i'm only moving forward, now. looking
forward. all i see is tomorrow - and in
tomorrow, i see today. perhaps this is
what it feels like to be living in the now.
kinda bland. my passions of yesteryear
and my color striped visions of a perfect
future intrigue me more. keep deep-rooted
emotions tossled.
although i want for nothing now,
those spinning-around upside down
moments of joy are fewer and farer
between. rounded at the edges,
i've become something i never thought
i would. i've really and truly grown up -
who hasn't dreamed that, not i.
even academia only gleams;
where once was a trove of
sources for me. i'm left, here,
wandering the planet, picking and
choosing, but still picking and choosing
for myself.
mep-topics come, mep-topics go.
days are earned, the children grow.
keeping things children would want,
something inside of me really likes me.
and no one can take that away.
january 15 1 9 9 9
tumbling towels leaving little energy
for the rest. sip sip it's friday.
january 13 1
9 9 9
i bet i'm not the only one annoyed by
those words. 'woman's issues.
i'm probably a big feminist who just
doesn't know it. looking around, i don't
twirl much anymore. feeling out of character
as i blush on the inside;
and a slight bit jealous when they call each
other 'honey'...
so here it is:
careers
divas
family
fashion
grrrls
health
journals
marriage
january 12 1 9 9 9
chewing again what can i say.
who knows whose around,
who's free, who cares;
i'm not the one to judge.
but here myself me and i
(and you) we find a way.
does the winter bring about fancy rhymes
craving bread and citrus fruit?
someone knows,
because someone knows everything;
yes it's true i'm somewhat serious;
perhaps they don't notice my 'off'
sense of humour -
perhaps, like the flatlanders,
they don't even know it's funny at all.
pity.
well i'm not just here to be uncomfortable
midst words i say too often.
i'm not only here to smell those burning
candles, snuff the fire.
can't say in a nutshell i really mind being
here by myself. but it's certainly an odd
contrast. one odd contrast.
man, everyone thinks they know what they know.
they all either 've got it figured out or haven't got
a clue a'tall. *shrug*
i've copied all them quotes-don't go looking for
'the good stuff' anymore. it's been done, writ,
played out on electronic wires. what's left is ain't
but the future. we're talking on a wire, you and i.
left, right, centered. just like everybody else.
i don't know a damn thing more than when i
began to slap out this stuff, not one iota.
it's still black and white
with a little bit of green
and i still ain't seen
nothing
that i never
seen.
it's amazing how long you can know someone before you realize that you only know what you wanted to know.
lapooch, c'est moi-meme.
january 8 1 9 9 9
oh yes i'm myself today
not more or less verbose than yesterday.
wait to awake to make the day
and dream of visions
far away
my bones they crick; at thirty three
i thought i treat them kind, nicely
my eyes can smart, from dry warm air
my back doth itch, can't reach back there
when life's all twirled and up is down
when synchronization is out of bounds
good deeds, good plans, though some are failed
and i still eat while others wail
with words uncanned
and lines of glee!
i feel the freedom
Puck taught me
let's lean left now poots,
no one can see you doing it
and your words still appear upright.
what we see on the outside,
visions - ? reality - ? or our own
damned self-constructs?
with no other way than to manage
our images, we're on our own here.
you don't know what i know
and i wonder if anyone does.
if you cannot make sense of it,
then give some away i say.
look at yourself sideways once in a while
if you can.
your insides might giggle.
and your liver tickle your fancy,
you may not even recognize yourself
but for God sakes man, lose control
once in a while, lose control.
i can still see straight even though
i'm leaning to the left.
and you didnt even remember that i was.
does anyone hear my happy words in all of this
that's what i want to know.
'alkjf
asdf
the hazy shade of winter melds.
january 3 1 9 9 9
the hazy shade of winter melds.
turning into a whiteness,
a dusted wonderland.
cloaked in thick echoes,
muffled
restless
POOTS CHEWS
her lip
and now
close to tomorrow:
she shines.
truly madly deeply do
stand on a mountain
lay like this forever
sky falls down on me
bigger
or
teeny tiny
?
january 1 1 9 9 9
sunshine greets the day.
my days are filled with books and things that mamma chooses;
shivers down my spine, aching ovaries, warmth
from the window,
and buds on the flowering plants. settling.
deeper. rested. ahhh.
this table overloaded; some old things, some new. how materialistic
am i, really? does habib hate me for it? in
the new year we will
balance truths realitys and kindness but in a frank way. we won't
make resolutions we wont' keep. we'll try to remember honest love.
we'll dwell, eagerly, honestly, and adamantly, on our good fortune,
our abundances-love and hope-family-kindness-sisters
and brothers
who love us- and the plethora of food filling the tiny cupboards.
we'll think about friends far and between, some ailing
in their health,
and we'll pray for those. we'll close our pootly eyes and wish them
all things well in this life.
photographs of us smile at me atop my rubble,
as he calls it.
a star on a box of kleenex shines brightly. '1999, the world of
tomorrow' sprawled open in front of i. really and for real.
christmas bulb hooks, oh no, no pictures of this year's tree yet.
any christmas pictures? photos used to be a luxury,
didn't they.
cursing from the dining room-lol-friendly,
funny cursing.
we dwell on general peace here. we spread
it amongst ourselves,
we spread it, thinly, over everything we do together. it doesn't
end here, but it does begin here.
i choose not my words in advance, perhaps it shows
perhaps it doesn't.