august 28, 2002

hey bert, i brought home a surprise, bert

august 25, 2002

"is it a cover song if the music is the same, but the words are slightly changed?"

the title for today's entry is courtesy of last night's dream, in which i wonder aloud about the seemingly exact replication of a song, only a few phrases had been swapped out with the help of a roget's. "messed up" became "screwed up" -- etc. funny wacky brain thing.

i'm a bit ruddy from the sun. yesterday was an incredibly fabulous day -- events mingling almost in concert, all movement out on the water lending a welcome hint in direction.

i had the pleasure of hitting the puget sound, sailing. the weather was absolutely gorgeous, so there was not much wind to speak of, but we tooled around the canals, hanging feet over the edge of the boat, sipping sapporo, chatting/napping/observing the jellyfish & kelp as they steadily passed. i think i may be in love.

there is a welcome sense of freedom garnered from dropping below deck, grabbing a novel, then negotiating the obstacle course to the foredeck, and reading aloud to semi-somnambulant company -- acclimation of sea legs sort of spectacular, sort of common sense. . . . overall, i felt absolutely at home.

friday evening we terrorists developed the set list for our upcoming gig, taking place on september 6th. i've spent a large portion of today listening to the clips and developing lyrical spring boards, i'm incredibly excited for the performance. we're also working up a small intermission skit, of sorts, which should be grand fun. it's going to be fun to perform with a bit of preparation -- we'll still leave room for improvisation, but i'm thrilled to have a general idea of where we're heading with the pieces so that i can stretch my voice a little bit more.

and. . . .during my recent jaunt to portland with the eminently marvioso rosS, i purchased a collection of garcia lorca's verse, from which i plan to read during two of the pieces we have queued up for the set. yes, yes, i know what i said about not purchasing books, but my god! our hotel was located, quite suspiciously, across the avenue from the shop and it stood to mock me throughout our stay. as one sweet nothing coaxed me with,

speaking of weak nature. . . .last week, sprocket's mother engaged in a whirlwind visit from alaska, during which she gifted us with a batch of green tomatoes:

the one on the left has rather brazenly continued to redden -- it must be eaten before it picks up any more bad habits!

august 23-ish, 2002

it's a skin texture -- or. . . not

perhaps you can watch it all -- and become more than you believe you ever could, by observation alone.

can you imagine what your life would be like if you'd never watched harold and maude?

. . . . . . . calling from far away.

it is difficult for me to extrapolate, but much more incredible for me to hem myself in -- hey, we all know this, i'm not one for simplification. yeah, sure, i make a good show of it -- but when it gets down to it, i'd like to be gauged in some other manner than quick/dirty.

like -- how much sweetness do i give out before someone bothers to return it -- i mean, truly? more importantly, why do i mildly hang on reciprocation/expectation? i swear, i look around and try to keep it all straight -- i'm not playing games here, certainly -- and even when it feels like it's in line, i feel kosher and everything settles itself up. . . . it always pans out in the same (mis)direction again.

is it a special kind of masochism to continue doling out the good stuff in the hope that one day i'll realize how to do so sans condition?

hey, but it's okay. i shouldn't really expect anything else, anyway, right? just some brief explosion, and then. . . .

etcetera. after several years now, you'd think i'd be used to it.

august 23, 2002

bloodcurdling

we terrorists bent together this evening and waxed semichaoticallypoetic on all manner of lovecraftian glory. i find that one of my favorite new methods for developing lyrical content is to grab random words from a page of text, and run with them. sort of like a verbal collage, i suppose.

it's not really the actual words, anyway, but the syllabic content and distorted intonation which can turn a simple word like "rattletrap" into a touching soliloquy highlighting the finer points of shyness.

there is little comparison to reference when describing how stellar i feel after each musical session. at times, it's difficult to follow suit when my voice/mind is heading in strange directions, but over the past few years i've learned, just a bit better, how to keep up with it.

i'm in a peculiar space, overall -- as usual. but it's a wonderfully "standard" location -- all emotions grandmasterflashing with eachother, balancing out, so that loveliness can be identified and framed by this certain brand of sadness: the loneliness of it all is much more beautiful, delicate, soft -- only because of the crushing grandeur in all things.

august 20, 2002

visualization tea

spent the day wading, through a variety of things. sometimes it is difficult for me to stem my whirring brain and allow life to develop naturally, as it is wont to do, and not how i would make it, were i the true craftswoman behind the scenes.

it does seem that the difficulty is centered around how to bridge the gap between participalities: past-present-future -- how to enjoy that with which i have been blessed, but not to the detriment of memory nor hope. where is it that i am heading?

if i sit in reason, and identify the concrete ideas behind my present circumstance, it all makes incredible amounts of sense: frustration can slide away like so many muddy cliffs and there are moments of resonating sunrays working diligently to melt through the clouds. but it is so definitely not my passion, nor do i feel incredibly sated by the work i perform each day -- so, i wonder, where does my talent lie?

in speaking with my mother last night, one reality that she commonly laments is the struggles my brothers & i have had with our own senses of self and confidence in who we are, who we should be. i can understand her reasons -- the feeling that, had she been more developed as an individual herself, she'd have been able to provide more emotional guidance to us, and, perhaps, have been able to be a more positive influence in our lives. i do wonder how much of my bullshit, of my erratic sense of self and worth is due to this brand of unconscious social engineering -- often, i kick around the thought of how to break free of it.

keenly, i am aware that i must own it, that there is no blame worth speaking of, and it is important for me to both identify my subconscious re/actions to human interaction & to ponder how i can transcend habit. cycles -- all of it.

ahora, stream of consciousness leads me to recall a group of three/four/five teenage mothers on the curb in south dublin, rocking prams & sipping beer -- i was walking through the streets with tony, an actor, with whom i'd spent a sleepless night speaking about nothing and everything as we stumbled back from an underground tango bar. i can still remember the scents of that experience -- the dampness of his walkup, the tanginess of the coffee produced by his chattering machine, the emptiness of the basement bathroom (moonlight glinting as i hovered over the naked toilet seat,) the saltiness of the mid-afternoon air as we strolled in the beating sun, the clang & char of the working-class cafe in which we ordered sandwiches and spoke about his most recent theatrical runs. crashing memory, so lovely.

so. . . .spending time with rosS reminded me how much i do love sharing with & getting to know someone -- watching their movements, listening to & attempting to deduce the methodology behind their intonation -- the crush, the amazement, the joy of digging into another's mind. it reminded me of how much i love to travel -- it seems transitory experiences are rife with openness, an ability to tempt the great-wide-open and forget about expectation because everything is just moving, moving, moving, and how freeing -- all of it.

ornament of a previous easter
wedged beneath candied eggs & aloe lotion
gift of a squeeeeeshy green frog
con eyes of keen desperation
no, perhaps delirium
and a lime bow tie

each evening, monitoring closely as fingertips skim across keys
tip tap typing
cloning into
morphing into
black market sonnets
childish lamentations
detailing whatever aromatic transcendence the sun tweaks 'pon

did you know? do you now?

could you in the moment lend me just a bit less derision
with red red lips and stained white eyes
you have none of the nobility afforded to the ganesh on your left
you just stare
you just stare

keeping watch as words fumble south

august 19, 2002

shimmering/sea

the last several days have been filled with a variety of enjoyments, highlighted by the presence of the supralovely rosS. it must be noted that it was absolutely splendid to have finally met him -- and wonderful that we get along so famously. at least, i think so.

amongst the chattering conversation and ridiculous jabs of humor, we went kayaking, walked around a large chunk of this city, took the train to portland and walked around a chunk of that city, and munched on quite a bit of delicious foods. we also tortured each other by attempting to procure the cheesiest of songs -- quotes ranged from the standards (ie. neil diamond, lionel richie, poison) to the out-and-out vengeful (scandal's "the warrior" or cutting crew's "i just died") ouch. good fucking times.

now, monday evening, alone in the house -- a little miss kittin & the hacker on the radiograph, the silence & whir of the street melding into a cantankerous heart beat, everything feels slower, more at rest. sort of empty & solitary, but framing the activity and vibrancy of the past several days quite peacefully.

i took time off for the visit and it has been wonderful, absolutely lovely to get a bit of perspective -- although, the "perspective" i usually attain is something along the lines of not wanting to set foot within those doors again. soon come, however -- just a wee bit of patience is necessary to continue in this space. oh, yes, and humor.

this evening, i went for a drink with my mother and we got into the usual discussions -- eventually speaking about parenthood. she was speaking about two of her friends that never have had children and how she notices slight differences in their social skills as compared to her own, causing her to ponder if these skills were learned as a result of rearing four children.

we spoke about this for awhile and then i told her how i'd been pondering tubal ligation for the past several months. suffice it to say, she was a bit shocked, but when i explained to her that i have no real intention of having children and, if i did end up feeling in the maternal way, there are plenty of kids on this planet who could benefit from a devoted parent, she seemed to understand. it might be the first time i've shared something like this with my mother and had her almost instantly grasp my point of view -- not that we don't get along or anything, but it is common for us to approach life from dissimilar perspectives.

the conversation continued with her speaking of how often she wonders about how her own children could have been different, perhaps more prepared for life, had she been more mature when she'd started having them. we've spoken of this before and agreed that the developmental stages of the individuals involved are so intertwined, it would be difficult to hypothesize on how we'd each be different had she waited a few years to birth us.

it seems that the central skills she has learned from parenthood could be learned from life in general: patience, tolerance, generosity of time/resources, unselfishness. the ability to step outside of one's own needs/desires, period. i find it hard to believe that such dimension is gleaned purely from procreation -- in fact, i challenge the notion.

august 13, 2002

refreshment? no, proceed

wicked communiqué, brief notes humming behind the bleachers -- tweeny rim jobs inciting peculiar redefinition of both wood slats and grace. subtle blur behind spectacles, transmuting activity into a dreamland detonation. factual stimulation tracked in static humor/missing consonants, somehow oxygen flows more freely the moment a fan's whir comes into hearing distance.

i think it would be a pretty fair statement to say that there should be more brass involved in music, as a matter of course. horns are so lovely.

do you recall my moments of existential weariness? yes, they are ever present but, in this heat, it's easy to shelve history in favor of a revelry in presence -- shed some layers of faithlessness, quite nice to watch the scales tip. hey kat, let's stick with it?

sure, yeah. why not?

lost my way/lost my words

august 12, 2002

tongue war

swam through the day -- moments wondering how small the small can get before i notice that it has disappeared, disintegrated. pondering the global brain mass humming our communal tunes -- how expert can one become, in a sea of generalization?

often i lament my own presence, a habit i would undoubtedly abandon should i let a little bit more go. . . .and again. . . .and again -- como that delicious feminine third overtone harmonic.

surprising that we've had such a heady seattle summer this year; usually, june/july/august fade into may/september -- so many watercolors bleeding into scratched canvas pages, on which someone bothered to annotate the days. so lovely to wake up in the foggy morning light, some skittish sun rays caught between the window panes, splaying across eyelids. turns r.e.m. into a honeyed placenta -- as if one could swim around endlessly without stopping for a breath; no gasping, just drinking in the light.

august 11, 2002

praha

friday night, we had a bit of a reunion for the lovely terrorist cooking class. for not having played together for over a year, i must say that we sounded magnificent! it was infinitely enjoyable to just free-associate and vibe.

adam gave me a tiny ganesh idol he brought back from india, and shared with me pages of writing. he is so brilliant sometimes, it's easy to look past the drug addiction and occasional sociopathy, just to enjoy the excellent perspective -- and keen manner of poignant commentary regarding the reality operating just outside of his own rule set. moments you read something and say, "oh yeah that's what i thought, but i just couldn't put a face on it." i'm glad he is visiting for awhile, and hopeful that i can spend more one on one time with him.

also on friday evening, i had a conversation with a long time coworker & friend who is leaving the speakeasy womb. after several cocktails had been shoved down his throat, he was reacting with a usual melancholy and lamented how different everything was going to be, this life change coming on. i teased him that now he could be like those kids who graduate high school, yet still throw parties for all the high school kids -- "hey, can you buy us some beer???"

it seems as if this experience showed him the value of himself, which was already there, but took a few dozen other folks signing on and appreciating for him to really dig it himself. there is, perhaps, an accompanied feeling that if one is no longer surrounded by these influences, one may lose the focus, the self-love, that has been garnered through the interactions with others.

personally, i view my time with this particular world, in many ways, as my university education. a lot of it trial by error, but it has become a place in which i have had the opportunity to try a lot of shit out, see what works, and go with it. i've also "grown up" a considerable amount, meaning that i have learned to really not sweat the small shit, and have found the beginning of a path, of sorts -- methods, goals, ways in which i can grasp/understand/appreciate as much as possible in/about life. the first shades of "meaning" lying beneath the surface of empathy -- connecting oneself to others.

it reminds me of another coworker of mine that really does not believe that, at any point in my life, i exhibited shyness -- but i was shy for a considerable chunk of my adolescence. rather, an overall confusion translated to shyness, because i did not really understand myself. when i was a child, i definitely did -- and now, in my mid-twenties, i have more of a grasp -- but it seemed that as soon as i hit twelve, all the translation of myself into the medium of life had been washed away. no doubt, i shall experience similar states of "wait a minute, what?" throughout my life, but it's nice to measure these small accomplishments.

next week, the ever-lovely rosS comes to visit -- about which i am endlessly excited! it is going to be fun to kick it & bullshit & walk around & yay! of course, it is absolutely splendid to finally meet a friend whom i have known, kinda off-and-on, as email pals are wont to be, for a few years. we're heading down to portland for a couple days, as well -- yes, i promise, i will not go to the book store. . . .because i have no real self-control in regard to libros.

today is the birthday party celebrating sophia's entry into legit toddlerhood -- 2 years & counting!

august 7, 2002

before you wake up

there are a few incredibly poignant moments in my lifetime. one is the first moment i ever laid eyes upon one of my best friends -- we were 15, in a spanish class, he sat in the corner with his wonderfully well-defined green sweater. we were in a romantic relationship for three years afterward, and now he's an intrinsic portion of my conscience; ultimately, there is no need/fear driving me to be someone who i am not. absolutely, i adore him.

i dislike myself when i am seeking validation. that is not who i am, intrinsically -- i'm not that needy; it is important that i allow myself to let it go. divorce. own my separation, my contrary, my sociopath.

but do you know what i get tired of?

yeah. . . .i thought so.

what i truly get tired of is my utter presence, at times. occasionally i think that a commitment to carpe diem is indicative of the short end of the stick : one must live in the day, essentially, because of a lack of true security or acceptance of anything occurring outside -- subset of a scientific sensuality.

when i speak with this old friend, this soul mate, often i am reminded of everything -- that we have shared it all and that, ultimately, we'll end up in rocking chairs. together.

"i miss you kat and hope you are having fun."

yeah, it all works out. that's the cornerstone of nostalgia.

august 6, 2002

so, my friend, you say the strangest things -- i find, sometimes

this evening, i had the plan to head straight home, deposit my rented film at the shop, and, armed with razor blade (and perhaps an s.o.s. pad,) clean off the detritus of a painting gone wrong a long, long time ago.

like, i was all about art.

but, instead, i was gifted with some incredibly meaningful human interactions which, intrinsically, are all about art.

base connection -- there are times when i absolutely revel in how wonderful i can relate with someone -- as if everything could become secondary, similarity rushing in, empathy rearing its lovely head. . . . again.

reminds me that what gives me the most joy, what truly gets me off, is essential conversation. listening, hearing, observing. always.

funny how i have ebbed/flowed through these spaces -- i understand i'm no centerfold, and growing up in a centerfold world gets a bit crowded -- but. . . . i have always been fortunate enough to attract like-minded freaks. when i ran into a dear friend tonight, with whom i have had only fleeting conversations over the past several months, it reminded that attraction -- beyond sexuality & the finer points of carnal designation -- is rooted in complicity. and reminded me how deeply i appreciate everyone that i know.

there is a pain, a confusion, inherent in attempts to translate adoration of others to the self. the hope is that, one day, i shall achieve such selflessness : adore completely, without wager.

august 5, 2002

rubber tree girl

sun shades in zebra
stripe along tit thigh knee toe
arching backs catch rays

august 4, 2002

haiku'ed

essence of grapefruit
tiny shiny candies pop
on tongue so sweetly

august 1, 2002

women are meant to be loved, not understood (wilde)